Half the Man I Used To Be But Twice the Man I Was
by Unique
Summary: What if Tony Stark suffered more than just shrapnel injuries in Afghanistan? What if he came home less than whole? A series of open-ended, non-linear ficlets focusing on the butterfly effect of Stark's disability. "Iron Man is twice the man you are, Stark." "Yeah, well, these days everyone is."
1. Argument

Half the Man I Used To Be But Twice the Man I Was

1. Argument

Steve wanted to groan when he saw Stark in the corridor ahead of them. He was tired and sweaty and covered in grime; definitely not the mood for dealing with malcontent billionaires. His irritable mood spiked even further as they drew close enough to notice Stark's damp hair and fresh change of clothes. So nice to know that the man who was supposed to be providing them with technical support had had time for a nice leisurely shower while the Avengers were off saving Newark, of all places.

"Did Iron Man make it back safely?" asked Steve, keeping his voice civil.

Stark stopped, his eyes sweeping over Steve with an expression of something, Steve wasn't sure what, before assuming his normal expression of bored disinterest.

"Two of the repulsor units need to be replaced so the suit's not flight worthy. I should have the repairs finished by tomorrow."

Steve stared at Stark, feeling anger at his callousness crackling in his chest.

"I didn't ask about the suit; I asked about Iron Man," he said, tersely.

Stark rolled his eyes.

"Iron Man is the suit," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I can't believe you," spat Steve. "There is a person inside of that suit who puts his life on the line every day, for you. He is Iron Man, not your fancy armor."

"I made Iron Man," said Stark, leaning forward with his eyes narrowed in anger. "Every nut and bolt of that suit is mine. Without me, there is no Iron Man. I am Iron Man. I don't care who wears the suit."

"You're pathetic," said Steve. He couldn't believe the gall of the man. How could anyone be so dismissive of their people? How could someone so blatantly take the credit for someone else's actions? "Iron Man is twice the man you are, Stark."

Stark gave a sharp bark of bitter laughter.

"Yeah, well, these days everyone is," he said, with an angry gesture towards his lap.

"I-" Steve found himself floundering for words.

"Save it," said Stark. He turned away, retreating back down the corridor.

Steve watched him go, feeling unsettled by the abrupt ending of the argument. He felt someone come up behind him and pause to his right.

"I think that man has more anger issues that I do," said Banner, sounding slightly incredulous.

"I think I said something wrong," said Steve, helplessly.

"Don't worry about it," suggested Banner, clasping a hand on Steve's shoulder. "You can apologize to him later."

O 

Stark was the only one in the conference room when Steve entered. Steve felt a flustered peak of anxiety that he quickly pushed down, hoping as he took his seat that his face wasn't flushed. The last thing he needed around Stark was to showcase his unsettled feelings.

"About earlier," he said, nervously, not looking at Stark. "I didn't mean…"

Stark kept tapping at the flat little device cradled in his hand, but the pace stuttered just enough that Steve knew he was listening.

"I wasn't talking about…" What was he saying? He couldn't just say that. He waved his hand awkwardly. "Your- you know. I mean, it doesn't matter."

The tablet-phone-whatever thing clattered to the table as Stark spun his chair around to face Steve. His eyes were hard and cold, his face twisted into a bitter snarl.

"It doesn't matter?" he asked, the words coming out in a very, very angry form of incredulous. "I'm Tony Fucking Stark," he said, slapping his hand against his chest. "For my entire life, I've had people lining up to throw themselves on my dick. Do you know how many people have wanted to sleep with me since I got back? Not. One. I used to walk into a room and all eyes would be on me; the center of attention, the life of the party; that was me. Now I'm invisible. Oh, people'll stare at the chair, or my lap. They love staring at what's not there, but me, no one sees me anymore. So don't fucking tell me it doesn't fucking matter."

Steve stared at Stark in horror.

"I didn't….I don't…It doesn't matter to me," he said finally.

The anger drained away and Stark just looked tired.

"Of course, it does," replied Stark, flatly. "You're just aware enough to know that it shouldn't matter whether I have legs or not."

"I'm sorry," said Steve, feeling like the absolutely worst person on earth.

Stark waved his hand dismissively, already turning his attention back to his whatever. This time Steve sat quietly and let him, but when Iron Man walked into the room five minutes later, he sighed with relief.


	2. Loss

2. Loss

"Tony Stark," said Yinsen, bending over him with dark, serious eyes.

Tony blinked and tried to reach for his face but Yinsen's image wavered like a mirage.

"What?" he mumbled. His tongue felt heavy and thick, gagging him in the dryness of his mouth.

"I am sorry. Your legs are dying and taking you with them, if the fever doesn't burn through you first."

Tony gaped at Yinsen. The words drifted through his head, little more than noise, but they echoed and echoed until slowly the meaning filtered through the fog burying his mind. He pushed himself up with his hands, wavering as everything spun. Finally, Tony had his head raised far enough that he could see his lower half.

A wounded, keening sound escaped him.

His legs were grotesque; already deformed from the shifting broken bones that Yinsen had been unable to set; now Tony could scarcely bear to look at them. There were angry red streaks running the length of Tony's legs, up his thighs, making the flesh around his groin swollen and puffy. Worse still were the weeping sores that were beginning to blacken dotting his calves.

"Off!" said Tony, choking over the words. He gripped Yinsen's arm, staring at him with naked fear and panic. "Get them off," he begged.

Yinsen nodded solemnly.

"If I go through your knee, it could be dangerous. You may bleed to death."

Tony shook his head. He had not lived through all of this just to die of gangrene in this hellhole. He was going to survive no matter what it took. With a shaking hand, he reached down and traced a line along his thigh several inches above his kneecap.

"Here," he said, in a determined voice.

O

Tony sighed, massaging the shiny scar tissue at the end of each leg. The new flesh was too tender to bear his weight for long but he needed the extra height gained from balancing on his thighs to be able to reach his equipment properly. He took advantage of the small break to look over the schematics once again. Yinsen and he were making good progress, more progress than he expected for a pile of scraps in a cave, but there was still a significant amount of work to be done and the more Tony looked at the plans, the less happy he was.

"This isn't going to work," he said, pushing the papers away from him in frustration. "You're going to have to man the suit."

"I will not," said Yinsen, not even looking up from his work.

"You'll have to! I can't- I don't-" Tony fists gripped his legs, his ragged nails digging into his skin.

Yinsen glanced at the damage he had inflicted to save Tony's life. Sorrow flickered across his face.

"I would have no way to power the suit," he pointed out gently.

"We could detach it from me," said Tony, though he shuddered inside at the idea. "Use the battery again. It would only be for a few minutes."

"No," said Yinsen, shaking his head. "The suit is for you."

Tony sighed, running a hand through his greasy hair.

"I can't stand. I can't walk. How?"

It was hopeless.

Yinsen sighed, letting his tools fall from his hands with a gentle clang. He pushed Tony to the side, pulling the papers in front of him.

"We will redesign," he said simply, as he began erasing lines on the diagram. "The suit will walk for you."

"You realize that it takes people months to learn how to walk with prosthetics?" asked Tony, even as he was leaning forward to watch Yinsen's changes with renewed interest.

"Then you will practice."

O

Learning to walk in the suit took more fortitude than Tony had believed that he'd had but when the time came he was riding a wave of adrenaline so high that he couldn't feel the pain. Only Yinsen's loss was able to penetrate deep enough to register before being swept away by the now, now, now. No time to think; just shoot and give them hell. Then he was flying and falling and his world was nothing but pain and hot sand.

He wiggled out of his savior turned death trap, pulling himself free with clawed hands. His thighs were shredded by the armor, leaving red streaks in the sand as he crawled towards freedom, or death, both. Time stood still - a hellish mixture of heat and thirst and the constant exhaustive push to keep moving forward - until the haze was broken by a noise from above.

The familiar thumping beat of a helicopter was the sweetest sound that Tony had ever heard. He stared up into the blinding sun as it passed overhead almost missing him down in the valley of two massive dunes but then it circled back and his heart started beating again.

Rhodey appeared like a miracle, climbing out of the open door and falling to his knees in front of Tony. He was talking, joking, nonsense, but his arms were reaching around Tony, holding him tight.

Safe. Home.

Tony let out a gasping sob as he squeezed Rhodey so tight that he might never let go.

O

Even his worst hangover had never felt like this, thought Tony as he peeled his eyes open, blinking in the overly bright hospital room. He wrinkled his nose at the antiseptic smell.

"Hey, welcome back." Rhodey's face leaned into view from his place at Tony's bedside.

"I feel like shit," said Tony, with a groan.

"You look it, too. You were very ill. We almost lost you."

"What happened?" he asked, trying to remember.

"You're in Landstuhl. We evacuated you to Germany from Camp Bastion." Rhodey paused and took a deep breath. "You had an infection."

Tony felt a curl of icy fear in his stomach as he remembered the mess his legs had been as he pulled himself out of the suit.

"No."

"Tony," said Rhodey, giving his hand a tight squeeze. His eyes couldn't hide his pity and regret. "They had to amputate again."

Tony lifted his head and stared down his body. Every morning the first glimpse of his newly shortened stature made his breath catch. This was even shorter still, ending about a hand's length past his iliac crests. Cut in half again, soon there would be nothing left of him.

Tony's breath came in ragged gasps.

"Hey, it's not so bad," said Rhodey, lying through his teeth. "We flew in the best surgeons. They realigned your muscles and blood flow to give you the best options. You have choices."

"But no legs," said Tony and even he could tell that his voice sounded empty and hopeless.

Rhodey winced.

"Sorry," said Tony, automatically. He scrubbed at his scalp with one hand, grimacing at the greasy feel of his hair. "Look. It's just a lot to take in. Could I have a moment alone?"

"Are you sure?" asked Rhodey, reluctant to leave.

Tony just looked at him, not willing to beg. Rhodey sighed and stood.

"I'll be outside the door if you need anything."

Tony stared up at the white tiled ceiling.

His hands slid under the blankets, trailing down his abdomen until they encountered bandages. They trembled as they traced over his hips and continued around his groin to cup the short, rounded lumps that were all that remained of his legs.

He'd fought so hard over the past months to adapt to the fact that his legs ended midway; to adjust, to accept. Everything he had accomplished, everything he had left was gone. Gone.

He'd had a dozen half completed plans for prosthetics; they were utterly useless now. He mentally balled them up and trashed them. Gone.

Tears leaked from the corners of Tony's eyes, falling in cold trickles into his hair. He began to hiccup quiet little sniffles in the silent, empty room.

Gone.

O

O

O

AN: I'd like to thank everyone for their responses. This story's kind of an experiment. I like exploring the consequences of different changes, but I don't think I could rewrite the whole MCU experience with this new Tony so I'm playing with different scenes. I have no idea if the end result's going to build a whole picture or if you're just going to have glimpses. There's no timeline for when I'll be updating because I'm posting the current ficlet as I finish the next.


	3. Dossier

3. Dossier

Photographs spread across the desk, poking in and out of the other contents of the file.

A man-shaped metal monstrosity is flying through the air. The image is blurred, only the shadows on the sand and the glare of the sun retain any real clarity, a consequence of the long range surveillance used to take the photograph. The picture is the product of one of the many Shield operatives stationed in Afghanistan during the weeks prior to the ill-advised Stark Industries demonstration and through the long months of Anthony Stark's abduction. Notes scrawled along the bottom of the photograph note the proximity to an outbreak of explosions in what military intelligence identified as deserted territory and the correlation to Stark's escape.

Anthony Stark is wan and frail, with dark bags under his eyes, gesturing animatedly towards the press; a man who went through hell and came out the other side damaged but unbroken. His smile looks like it might crack at any second. He sits on the floor, bundled under a thick blanket, despite the California heat and the sweat dampening his brow. The reporters circle around him like children at Story Time with expressions of eager anticipation. Over his right shoulder, out of focus, Stark's new wheelchair is just barely visible. The picture has a watermark that says Stark Industries, the address of their press offices, and the date of the press conference – common practice for official press releases.

The tuxedo-clad man stands smiling dim-wittedly at the camera, his eyes are bleary and only half opened. His arms wrap around two blonde girls half his age with more cleavage than common sense judging by their vapid expressions and he tilts slightly, leaning his weight on his right-hand companion. The scene is a red carpet, or an after-party, or some other Hollywood occasion where the quasi-famous congregate to get drunk for the cameras. The picture is old news, a thousand like it sit gathering dust in a filing cabinet; its presence only included in the new file to provide contrast. New Stark – Old Stark.

The picture looks like it belongs in a travel brochure. The brilliant blue and red lights of the Ferris wheel glitter against the dark night over the Santa Monica Pier. People frame the bottom of the image: they look up, pointing; their faces frozen forever in expressions of wonderment, shaded ghostly hues by the neon around them. High in the darkness is a mar on the photograph. A shaky yellowish white line - it looks like someone tried to mimic an UFO but photoshopped the Nike swoosh instead - disrupts the idyllic imagery.

Anthony Stark sits on a cushioned platform holding a screwdriver to the wrist of his companion, a silver robotic man. He's smiling as he talks, looking much improved. His skin tone is less grey and his arms, highlighted by his sleeveless shirt, are gaining musculature. His new chest piece is proudly on display through a cut-out in his chest and his shorts allow peaks at his still-bandaged stumps. He looks happy and confident. The silver robot is the height of an average man with a sleek upper body that thickens almost to the point of being bulky at the hips and thighs. In this screen capture, the pair looks like friends having a conversation. In the original video, a twenty-eight second image-only clip of stolen Stark security footage currently locked to the current Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s eyes only, the relationship is more ambiguous because shortly after, the robot removes his face for repairs revealing a hollow cavity behind the faceplate.

The picture is simple: three people standing in a workspace. The colors of the photograph are fading to sepia. The gentleman on the left is older but still vibrant. He wears a suit but has lost the jacket and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows; he's smiling, oblivious to the camera. The man on the right is impossibly young, with gravity defying hair and two working eyes. The third figure has his back to the camera – a small child holding up a toy man with a star-covered shield for the other two's perusal. The two men are completely focused on the boy.

Fury massages his eye patch, flipping through the photographs again. Howard raised his boy to be a media darling, to live his life for the world to see. Anthony Stark was the personification of the reality TV generation twenty years before its time, but that openness wouldn't serve him now. No, it's past time for someone to introduce Stark to the secret-keeping side of his family business.

He picks up his phone: he needs to arrange a flight to California.

O

O

O

AN: This was originally meant to be the set-up leading to a conversation between Fury and Tony and then it took a left turn. I know the style changes are a bit odd, but this piece has a lot of hints about future characterization and timelines.


	4. Battle

4. Battle

His heart beat a rapid patter in his chest. Every second stretched out into infinity, distorted with ecstasy. His triumph. His just rewards. They sat so sweetly on his tongue.

Nothing could stop him now.

All the power on Earth wrapped around him in invincible armor.

The world would tremble at his name. Nations would fall at his mere whimsy…

Obadiah Stane sighed, as his moment of glory was interrupted by another armored suit streaking through the sky to land in a crouch before him. The smaller robot's riotous red and gold chrome had Tony's Stark's name written all over them. It figured that he'd still be ruining Obadiah's day from beyond the grave. God knew Howard managed it often enough with his cryptic notes.

"I should have known that he'd make you a suit, Colonel Rhodes."

The other robot froze for a second before continuing its rise to its feet. It watched him silently, a stern expression painted on its face.

"Tony always was generous," continued Obadiah, pulling up his targeting system. "He'd give you his heart right out of his chest."

Obadiah laughed at his own joke, delighted by how menacing it sounded through the suit's speakers. He ducked to the side as Rhodes fired a miniature missile at him, letting out a burst of machine gun fire in return.

They danced, weaving in and out of traffic, exchanging increasingly deadly blows. Adrenaline flowed through his veins giving him a high unlike anything he had ever experienced. The edge of a blast sent him tumbling so he tossed a car loaded with children towards his opponent. Rhodes might not be squeamish about a few collateral damages but his masters wouldn't be pleased if it happened on American soil. Dead civilians were bad press.

The metal man balanced the car, lowering it carefully to the ground, only to have it run over him, sparks flying. Obadiah laughed at his panicked shouts. He rushed ahead, knowing that the delay wouldn't hold Rhodes long. He couldn't be sure he had the better weaponry, there was no telling what tricks Tony might have had hidden away, but he had the superior power source. Even now, he could see the other arc reactor flickering. If he drew out the fight long enough, he'd gain the tactical advantage.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Rhodes as he caught up with Obadiah.

"Do you have any idea what my life has been like babysitting one drunken Stark after another? Always restrained, never free to do what I wanted because it wasn't my name on the company."

"It wasn't your company."

"It should have been," growled Obadiah. "Neither of them had the stomachs for war, not like we do. And then Tony came back from Afghanistan, just wouldn't die, and the squeamish little-"

A blast hit his chest sending him tumbling backwards.

"Protective, are we? Too bad you're too late." He couldn't help gloating.

Rhodes didn't respond, too busy dodging flames. They made slow progress along the road; the red and gold armor rolled and scraped along the pavement as Obadiah pushed him back. Obadiah hit him, knocking him down again and again and again. Each time it bounced back slower than the last time.

The armor stared up at him, crumpled in a heap. The chest heaved in time with the spluttering light in its center. Obadiah brought his heavy hitters online, using the graphic interface for targeting. It was time to end this. The other armor laboriously rose to its feet, then just when Obadiah thought it had run out of fight, launched upwards. The armor dipped precariously before fleeing into the sky. Obadiah swore and gave chase.

"Come now, Colonel. Do we really need to prolong the inevitable?"

Obadiah was getting tired of talking to himself. He was beginning to wonder if it was even Colonel Rhodes inside that suit. No, he was being silly; he knew better than most how good Rhodes was at biting his tongue - it was a necessity when spending time around Tony Stark.

They twisted through the clouds, rising higher and higher. His prey kept dodging every time Obadiah managed to get a lock.

"Would you quit moving!"

"So sorry," said Rhodes, finally responding to him.

Obadiah put on an extra burst of speed. He wrapped a fist around the other suit's ankle. He pulled the suit down, shaking it in his grasp.

"Give up," he ordered. "My suit is more advanced. You can't win."

"Yeah?" answered Rhodes. "How did you solve the icing problem?"

Icing problem?

Obadiah's screens flickered and then went black. His suit was unresponsive.

He was falling.

His suit burst back to life seconds before he would have spattered against the pavement like a bug on a windshield. He pulled up sharply, the gravitational force making his joints ache. He could see the lights of the other suit against the blackness of the night sky. He followed it to the roof of Stark Industries, lurking in the darkness until he could take it by surprise.

They fought but it dissolved into a wrestling match when the other man jumped on his back and ripped out his targeting systems. Obadiah hit the switch to open the suit. He didn't need the fancy computers to aim manually, not when the other armor was practically dead. Rhodes couldn't escape this time.

Rhodes crawled over the broken skylight.

"I'm going to enjoy this," Obadiah said, with his finger on the trigger switch.

"Now," shouted Rhodes. The propulsion units in his legs gave one last surprising burst - Obadiah had thought they were depleted - propelling him through the air.

Obadiah turned to pursue.

Everything went white.

O

Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes stepped up to the podium. He peered out at the crowd of reporters.

"You've all received the official statement of what occurred at Stark Industries last night."

The crowd murmured as their cameras flashed, momentarily blinding him.

"There have been unconfirmed reports that a robotic prototype malfunctioned and caused damage to the arc reactor. Fortunately, a member of Tony Stark's personal security staff was on hand to prevent further devastation."

"You mean the other robot," said a man from the front row.

The murmur became louder as the name "Iron Man" was repeated throughout the crowd.

"Please," said Rhodes, raising his hand to calm them down.

"Colonel Rhodes, what about the rumors that you are Iron Man?"

The reporters began to shout over each other.

"I'm afraid that, at this time, I can neither confirm nor deny the identity of any member of Tony Stark's personal staff. Now, if I may continue, there were no casualties -"

O

O

O

AN: Portions of this text were quoted from Iron Man (2008).


	5. Camaraderie

Remember the non-linear portion of the summary? Well, get ready for a time-jump.

O

O

O

5. Camaraderie

The best thing about working for SHIELD was that everyone kept odd hours so there were plenty of people around when Clint trudged in at three in the morning, groggily blinking sleep from his eyes, after a five hour flight from London. He didn't like empty corridors or desolate offices- they made him twitchy. He liked seeing people go about their business.

Of course, this morning people were paying more attention to him than usual and it was making him twitchy anyway. If one more person smirked at him as they walked by, he was going to have to rethink turning in his weapons.

"Barton, my man!" Arms draped down around his shoulders.

Clint tensed, fingers drifting to touch the knife strapped to his thigh. He turned slightly to the right until he could see the other agent in profile.

"Carlyle," he greeted, warily.

"Tell me. How does it feel to be a kept man?"

Carlyle began laughing hysterically. He released Clint and staggered down the hall, still laughing so hard that he could barely walk, while Clint watched in confusion. Was Carlyle drunk?

Another agent walked by smirking but it seemed less sinister and more knowing, like she knew an inside joke that Clint had missed. Clint frowned. He continued on to the armory where John kept glancing up at him with that same expression as he checked in his borrowed weapons.

"Always wanted to join a harem, myself," said John, quirking an eyebrow.

Clint glared at him frostily. He didn't need to know what everyone was laughing over to know that it wasn't as funny as they all thought it was. He also didn't need this kind of harassment from the people who were supposed to have his back. He finished his business in silence, shoving the back-up bow into John's hands with a bit more force than was necessary.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, mostly to keep them from strangling anyone, and marched through the corridor. People took one look at his expression and studiously pretended to ignore his presence with properly blank, unamused faces. Clint was glad that he just had to update his paperwork and then he could escape to the relative sanity of the tower.

There was a newspaper tacked to his door; one of those really skeevy tabloids that used to report Elvis sightings and crashed alien spacecraft but now just stalked celebrities. The headline above the fold read "Stark Generosity" and was accompanied by a photograph of Stark Tower. Clint swore at the paper and tore it off, stomping inside his office to slam the door.

He spread the paper open on his desk. There were photos with the article: artistic shots of the tower lobby and a living room in one of the suites reserved for Stark Industries guests (Clint knew that one of the architecture or design magazines was running an article on Stark Tower so the images were probably borrowed from there.) as well as paparazzi shots of the Avengers entering the tower and Iron Man standing guard behind Stark. He leaned down, bracing his hands against the edge of the desk, to read. The article suggested that the Avengers were living a life of luxury on Stark's dime, and then used that to make insinuations about Iron Man and Stark's relationship, because it was inconceivable that Stark might have offered them living space without some sort of carnal incentive. Of course, they didn't stop their insinuations at just Iron Man. The article ended with the standard speculation about Iron Man's identity.

Fury needed to know about this. Clint made his way upstairs, trying to avoid as many people as he could. It was much easier to gain access to Fury's office before Fury's staff had arrived for the day. He slapped the paper down on Fury's desk and looked at him expectantly. Fury leaned back in his chair.

"We're aware of the article," he said with his normal impassivity. "All of the information cleared."

"Oh, I know the whole ship's aware of the article. They all think it's hilarious, but it's not going to be so funny if someone harasses Stark like they've been harassing me and he sends us crashing to our fiery, watery deaths."

Fury scrubbed at his face mumbling, "I'm running a god damned primary school."

"Stark's not that volatile," he said. "He wouldn't kill us. Sudden computer glitches our Stark Tech on the other hand…" Fury sighed. "I'll deal with this. For now, just get back and keep Stark from coming in today. Keep both of them away."

"What about my report?" Not that Clint really cared but the paper pushers got vindictive when their paperwork was withheld.

"You're alive and Europe's still standing; the report can wait."

"I love it when you prioritize, sir," said Clint with a flirtatious grin.

"Out!" Fury pointed at the door, already turning his attention to his computer monitors.

O

The lights were all dark as Clint strolled into the Avengers' quarters. He took a quick shower, changing into some comfortable casual clothes, before wandering into the living room. The room was styled similarly to the living room in Stark's penthouse but bigger with fewer windows and more couches. One of the walls was retractable, opening up to an adjacent game room. It was Clint's favorite space in the tower.

"JARVIS," he said softly, reluctantly to break the silence as he lounged on one of the stupidly soft cushions. Stark had the best invisible friends and Clint would have to be an idiot not to recruit him into his mission.

"How may I help you, Mr. Barton?" The British voice's answer was immediate and courteous.

"Are Stark and Iron Man both here?"

It would be difficult to keep them from SHIELD if he didn't know where they were located.

"They are currently sleeping. Shall I wake them?" answered JARVIS after a brief pause.

"Let them sleep." He hesitated. "But could you let me know if they plan to stop by SHIELD today?"

"Is there a problem, Mr. Barton?"

"No." He sighed and then confessed, "More like I'm trying to prevent a problem."

JARVIS was silent long enough for that Clint began worrying he'd said the wrong thing.

"If this is in response to the tabloid, let me reassure you that both Iron Man and Mr. Stark are well versed in the vagaries of the press."

"No, nothing like that. It's just a few asshats." Clint waved his hand dismissively. "Fury's laying down the law."

"I see," said JARVIS with an odd note to his tone that suggested that he really did see. "In that case, you will be relieved to know that both Iron Man and Mr. Stark plan to remain in the tower today."

"Plan plans or plans," he asked, because if Pepper Potts was going to come drag Stark off to meetings again, Clint was making popcorn. Those two needed their own stand-up routine with Iron Man guest starring as a giant puppy version of Charlie Chaplin.

"Plan plans," replied JARVIS immediately, and did Clint mention that Stark had the best invisible friends, "penciled into Ms. Potts's calendar and everything."

"Oh, good. Then I can take the day off and relax."

"You do that, sir." JARVIS sounded fond as he gradually dimmed the lights. Before Clint knew it, he'd fallen asleep on the couch.

When he woke, there were lights in the direction of the kitchen and the sun was just peeping over the horizon. Clint yawned. He rolled off the couch accompanied by the pop and crackle of protesting joints. His feet were silent against the cool marble flooring.

In the kitchen, Bruce sat serenely at the large farmhouse-style table that dominated the dining area. A dog-eared paperback was splayed upside-down on the table while Bruce was scooping what looked like some sort of fruit chutney onto a triangle of toast. His normal cup of tea sat steaming in front of him.

"You look cozy," remarked Clint.

Bruce looked over his shoulder, giving him a brief smile in greeting.

Clint shuffled past, one hand darting out to snag a piece of toast as he went. The kitchen was a massive affair with gorgeous sandstone counters and stainless steel professional quality equipment that was entirely wasted on the culinary-challenged Avengers. Clint was more than capable of operating the coffee machine though he opted for a simple drip brew over one of the forty-seven other options available.

"Here," he said, as he sat across from Bruce. He pulled the newspaper out of his pocket, smoothed out a few of the crumples, and shoved it in Bruce's direction. "You should probably know about this."

Bruce read the article silently. Clint couldn't read the expressions that flickered over his face.

"The article does have a point," said Bruce ruefully, as he folded the paper back together.

"Really? Because somehow I missed it when we were reenacting the Real World."

"About Tony's generosity."

"He can afford it," said Clint, with an uncomfortable shrug. He tried not to think about the money that Stark spent on the Avengers.

"That's not the point. If we were paying rent for an apartment like this here in Manhattan, we'd owe Stark millions. I can see how that kind of money might make people wonder."

"But Stark and Iron Man?"

Bruce shrugged.

"I think they're a lot closer than any of us realize."

"Really? You think so?" Clint didn't see it.

"Watch them have a discussion sometime. It's like they have their own secret, non-verbal language."

"They hardly speak to each other," protested Clint. Stark and Iron Man were always active in a group but they rarely addressed anything directly to one another, which was kind of odd now that Clint was thinking about it.

"Exactly," said Bruce, leaning back with a satisfied air.

"I still don't think that means they're sleeping together."

"Of course, not," said Bruce, sounding offended. "It just means that whoever Iron Man is, he's someone that's been in Tony's life for a long time."

"We're not seriously trying to break Iron Man's secret identity, are we? Because that's just not cool."

Bruce actually huffed and rolled his eyes.

"I'm not telling you anything you didn't already know. Anyone can tell that Tony has trust issues so he's not going to give the suit to just anyone."

"Okay, fine, whatever. Can we just not discuss this anymore?" he asked, becoming uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

"This really bothers you," said Bruce, sounding surprised.

Clint shrugged.

"I'm a spy; we kind of understand needing secrets. And like you said, they're both giving us so much. The least we owe them is their privacy."

Bruce smiled at Clint as he sipped at his tea. Clint couldn't help feeling like he'd passed some sort of a test, and he remembered that Bruce was friends of a sort with both Iron Man and Stark. He watched the other man thoughtfully. A companionable calm descended on the kitchen.

"Damn it!"

Bruce and Clint stared wide-eyed at the door where Stark had silently appeared. Bruce picked up the spoon he had dropped while Clint swept the newspaper off the table and stuffed it under his leg.

"Is something wrong?" they asked, cautiously.

"My left foot itches," whined Stark.

Bruce rolled his eyes, but Clint continued to stare at Stark.

"You don't have a left foot," he said slowly.

"Then you see my problem," replied Stark, making a strange twisty, twitchy motion that looked oddly like a small child in need of a toilet. "I can't scratch it."

Clint glanced at Bruce, wondering if he should be concerned. Bruce leaned forward until his lips were by Clint's ear.

"It's not unusual for amputees to get phantom sensations in their missing limbs," he explained, softly.

"Right."

"I saw that," said Stark, grinning. He continued in a sing-song voice, "Bruce and Birdman sitting in a tree…"

"Tony," said Bruce wearily.

"Why are you even here?" interrupted Clint. "Don't you have your own kitchen?"

"Solids!" quipped Stark, rolling around the table.

Clint glanced at Bruce, hoping for a translation. Bruce shook his head, waving one hand vaguely in the air, just as confused by Stark's latest burst of nonsense. Seriously, the man was supposed to be a genius.

"Everything in my kitchen is intended for a blender," continued Stark absently. He maneuvered awkwardly at the refrigerator, finding it difficult to shift his chair while pulling open the door. Peering inside he made a pleased humming sound and began piling his lap with eggs, milk, cheese, and spinach. He spun around and rolled backwards using his back to close the door.

Clint sat in silence watching, feeling like he should get up and help, but knowing that Stark would throw an epic fit if he did.

"So! Omelets!" said Stark, cheerfully, turning around to face them. "You're eating so that's a no but you-" He pointed at Clint. "Do you want one? Of course, you do. I make a mean omelet, only took me weeks to learn how. So, you, eggs, breakfast, yes?"

He looked at Clint expectantly.

"Sure," said Clint with a shrug. He wasn't one to turn down offers of food and really who could have said no to all that.

"Great." Stark rubbed his hands together with a grin before rolling into the kitchen.

Bruce and Clint exchanged a bemused glance, but didn't say anything. A happy Stark was way more fun than their normal surly one so Clint didn't want to do anything to darken his mood.

Stark parked by the massive range. The top of his head was barely level with the burners. Clint watched with interest, wondering how he was going to manage. First, Stark carefully lifted up the items in his lap and slid them onto the countertop. He raised one hand into the air.

"Up," he said softly.

A ring on a length of chain similar to the ones used by male gymnasts descended from a hidden panel in the ceiling. Stark grabbed it using a combination of his own arm strength and the mechanism of the ring to pull himself up out of his chair. He gave a deft twist and landed on a steel shelf that had popped out of the cabinetry. His new vantage point gave him the perfect height to reach the stove.

Clint marveled both at the use of technology and at the way that Stark so effortlessly molded his environment to suit his needs. It was amazing what the man could do with a little bit of tech. It really made him wonder what Stark was doing rolling around in such a simple wheelchair. Shouldn't he have built himself a pair of bionic legs or something by now?

"Eat up," ordered Stark, sliding a plate in front of Clint while he took the open space at the head of the table.

"S'good," mumbled Clint through a hot mouthful after taking a tentative bite.

"I know, right?" Stark took a big bite. "I made these for Pepper once. That was bad." He shuddered. "No, really bad, as in 'Let's never do that again.' But! I got better. And now, voila! Deliciousness!"

"What the hell are you on?"

"Hey!" Stark pointed at him. "I fed you. None of that."

Bruce stood, making himself a fresh mug of tea and putting away the food still sitting on the counter.

"Next time," he said, cuffing Stark lightly on the back of his head as he moved back to the table. "Put your own things away."

"I knew you were getting up," he protested with an unapologetic, roguish grin.

"Good morning, everyone," said Steve, wandering into the kitchen still looking mussed from sleep with his hair sticking up.

"Morning," said Bruce, while Clint made a noise of agreement.

"Well, time to go," said Stark, shoving the last three bites of egg into his mouth. He carried his plate to the sink. "Iron Man and I will be in the lab working on the suit so try not to let the world end because Timmy can't play come out and play today."

With that Stark vanished, leaving the room behind him feeling slightly vacuous.

"Iron Man's name is Timmy?" asked Steve into the silence.

Bruce and Clint looked at each other and then burst out laughing.

O

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AN: I don't even know where this one came from. Clint was supposed to ask Tony why he doesn't have awesome prosthetic legs and Tony was supposed to lie about it, but then Clint just wouldn't shut up and that scene never even happened.

I'd like to thank everyone who has been sharing their speculations and thoughts on the characterization. I've been having so much fun discussing them with you. And it's helping me to write faster, I think this is the fastest I've written in years.


	6. Introspection

Timeline: a couple weeks after the first infamous press conference (not to be confused with The Press Conference, which is next chapter).

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6. Introspection

Tony sat watching the waves crash on the shore below his balcony. For one of the first times, he really wished that his father was still alive. There were so many questions he wanted to ask him right now.

He couldn't believe that the terrorists were armed with Stark Tech. Everything he'd built was killing the soldiers he'd thought he was protecting. Had his father experienced this after Hiroshima? Howard had been just one of many people on the Manhattan Project but the devastation had been so much more severe. How had he continued to make weapons after something like that?

"Our weapons have to be the best, son. We protect the American soldier."

Were the words just platitudes or had Howard really believed them? Tony had believed them, naively, stupidly. He'd clung to them like a buffer because it didn't matter who those weapons might be killing as long as -Rhodey- the American soldiers lived. Had it ever been true?

He'd been so young when his father died and their relationship had been so fractious that they'd never had a chance to have any of the adult conversations about important things. Now Tony was changing his life and changing his father's company and he had no idea what his father would have thought about any of it.

Obie thought he was being stupid. Rhodey thought he was being impulsive. Who the hell knew what Pepper thought because she couldn't even look at him without crying? The only one who seemed to understand was JARVIS. It would help if he knew that his dad would have approved- god knows why because Howard never approved of anything else about Tony and it's not like Tony had ever let that matter.

Who was he kidding? He didn't really care about Howard. He just wanted a dad: someone to tell him what to do. What was the right thing to do? Because suddenly everyone he trusted, everyone who had always been in his corner even when they shouldn't have been; they all had ulterior motives now and he was so alone in this.

No, that's not true, damn it. He did want Howard, his screwed-up, asshole of a father, Howard. Everything was wrong. Everything he'd ever believed in and most of the things he'd done; it was all wrong. And he didn't know how far back it went. And he didn't know how to fix it. He had to reevaluate everything and that meant thinking about the one person he spent most of his time making sure to never think about.

What would his life have been like if his parents had lived? Would his father have made a difference? Would Tony have been a better man? It wasn't that he thought Howard would have been some sort of role model but it would have had to have been better to become adult under his shadow rather than in the spotlight as America's Youngest Billionaire. Maybe Tony would have gotten it all out of his system if he'd been able to actually really run away from his responsibilities. Not that he'd ever been particularly good at being responsible, but the responsibility was always still there lurking in the background like the world's worst party pooper.

Tony leaned his forehead against the cold metal, letting it soothe his racing thoughts. He wished he could be a pebble tumbling in the surf.

He was going to have to be more responsible now, more hands on. There could be no more focusing on his research and letting Obie guide him to the press opportunities. Stark Industries needed more from him. He'd let himself be swayed by his father's example; because that man rarely left his lab much less set foot in a boardroom, and by Obie's willingness, and by his own reluctance.

"It's time for your teleconference with the board," said Pepper, stepping out onto the balcony hesitantly.

Speak of the devil…

"Coming," answered Tony, hoarsely.

He reached back for his chair, fumbling at the break, trying to tell by feel that it was engaged. It would have been easier if he hadn't decided to sit on the ground, but he rarely thought through things like that. The chair rolled and he had to grab at it; this time securing it properly.

"Do you? Do you need help?" asked Pepper, from behind him, sounding breathless.

Tony ignored her.

Tony gripped his fists around the armrests but the angle was odd, making it difficult to get the leverage he needed to lift himself. It was the stupidest thing ever, having difficulty getting in and out of his chair. He could walk around balanced on his hands for hours. If they built a set of monkey bars across the Grand Canyon, he could cross it no problem. But he couldn't for the life of him lift his body two feet up into a chair without looking like an uncoordinated, muscle- less idiot.

Finally, finally, he managed. His shoulders ached and his clothes were in disarray but he was in the chair. He took a moment to make himself look presentable before he released the brake and spun around to face Pepper.

Pepper was standing by the doorway. Her hands were clinched into fists and she was biting her lip so hard that the flesh was reddening. She reached towards him as he rolled closer and he could see the crescent shapes dug into her palms. He swiftly averted his face.

"Don't," he said, harshly.

If the noise she made as he left resembled a sob, he pretended not to notice.


	7. Press Conference

7. Press Conference

Tony turned towards the open door – "Hold still," hissed Pepper, gripping his jaw firmly. – to see the agent from SHIELD entering the room. The agent stood there for a moment watching them so outrageously generic that he practically screamed government work.

"I have your alibis," he said finally. "You were in a private rehabilitation session. We have sworn statements from a therapist and three other staff members. Miss Potts was with you. The Air Force is cooperating with us for a change. They're willing to state that Colonel Rhodes was present on base last night."

"That's because Rhodey was on base last night," said Tony, sarcastically.

"Whatever you say, Mr. Stark." The agent gave his bland little smile.

"Please, stop moving, Tony," said Pepper, with a weary sigh. She pulled out a damp cloth and wiped at his cheekbone before starting again with the make-up application.

"Iron Man will be joining us today, won't he?" asked Agent, with a pointed glace towards the television which was showing Colonel Rhodes speaking with the press.

"Who said he was called Iron Man? I didn't name him Iron Man. Pepper, I think I should be allowed to name my own creations," he said plaintively.

"Sorry, boss," she said, tapping the newspapers in his lap. "I think the people have spoken."

Tony twisted his face into an exaggerated scowl, but the truth was he rather liked the name Iron Man; it had an impressive ring to it, nice imagery, and well, he had never been the best at naming things. He had a merchandising department for a reason.

"Tony!" She pulled her hands away from his face. "That's it. I quit. This is as good as you're going to get."

She glanced at the agent who tilted his head at a few angles studying Tony's face. He gave a brief nod so she began putting away her make-up. Tony didn't need a mirror to know that all of his bruising would be expertly hidden.

"I wish you would tell me what happened at your place last night," said the agent, staring at the cheek that Pepper had still been covering when he arrived.

"Sorry, Agent, but some things don't need to be documented."

The agent's professionally blank face became fractionally stiffer. Tony made a mental note: "Doesn't like being told no, or he just likes paperwork, possibly both?" and added it to the file he was compiling on this Agent Coulson.

"There could be security concerns," replied the agent.

"They've been handled," Tony said flatly. He didn't want to think about what Obie had done. He didn't want to think about Obie at all, but- He picked up the newspaper and rattled it in the air. "There's nothing in here about Mr. Stane."

"That's also been handled," answered Agent, with a humorless smile. "He's on vacation. Small aircraft have such a poor safety record."

Tony made a noncommittal sound. It was a good cover story; better than the "Iron Man is my bodyguard" that Fury had talked him into, but Tony wasn't looking forward to having to mourn his attempted murderer in the coming weeks. He'd rather expose Obie as the evil betrayer that he was; unfortunately, Stark Industries couldn't take another blow.

"Here," said Agent, handing over a set of blue note cards. "Just read these, word for word."

Tony skimmed over the cues. They didn't sound much like him and the Iron Man section was even worse.

"Are you sure that-"

"This isn't my first rodeo, Mr. Stark. As long as you and Iron Man stick to the official story; soon, this will all be behind you."

He seemed confident. Tony didn't really have much choice but to trust in his work.

"You have ninety seconds."

Pepper excused herself to speak with the agent privately.

Tony glanced back down at the cards in his hands. For a second, they felt smoother, more like photo paper than cardstock. The image wavered, words becoming weapons with the Stark name against desert backdrop. Tony shook his head and they were just words again but he could hear in his head that reporter.

"Is this what you call accountability?"

She'd just shoved the pictures into his hands and everything had fallen apart.

Tony felt dizzy, like he couldn't get enough air, and he could still feel Obie's grip upon his neck as they smiled for the camera. Then Obie was whispering in his ear, his hands upon Tony's chest.

He shoved the cards into the bag hanging from the back of his chair and scrubbed his palms against his jacket, trying to wipe away the feel of them.

"Are you okay?"

Pepper was standing in front of him, staring down at him with concern, and when had she come back into the room?

"Yeah, sure," he said, coughing to clear his throat. "Let's do this thing."

O

Stark rolled out onto the platform, exchanging brief smiles with Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes as they crossed paths. When he parked behind the podium, it completely obstructed him from view and the microphones towered above his head. There was a rustle of noise from the audience. Coulson sighed and sent off a quick text as he took his place in the back row. Stark moved over to sit beside the podium and stared up at the mikes with an amused expression while the front row tittered nervously. Someone ran out and shoved a portable mike into his hands.

"And someone backstage is feeling very stupid right about now," said Stark with a smirk, prompting laughter from the press. "Sorry about that, folks.

"It's been a while since I was in front of you. I figure I'll stick to the cards this time."

He paused for the scattered laughter before continuing, "There's been speculation about the events that occurred on the freeway and the rooftop…"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, but do you honestly expect us to believe that that was a bodyguard in a suit that conveniently appeared?"

Stark glanced down at the woman before looking quickly away in an uncharacteristically furtive manner. Coulson's files identified the woman as Christine Everhart of Vanity Fair, the reporter who had written a particularly scathing article on Mr. Stark shortly before the Afghanistan incident. Clearly, there was still some history between the two.

Miss Everhart was still speaking when Stark spoke over her, "I know that it's confusing. It is one thing to question the official story, and another thing entirely to make wild accusations."

"Like the fact that you claim Stark Industries no longer makes weapons but here you've made one for your best friend." She waved her hand at where Rhodes had walked out of sight.

"What? No!"

Stark looked over the crowd of reporters and met Coulson's eyes. "Stick to the cards," he mouthed to Stark, willing him to listen. Stark visibly sighed.

"The truth is," he began, taking a deep breath. "I've been through hell this past year and there's been more going on than the public knows. There have been threats made to my life and the lives of people I care about."

A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd. Coulson frowned. Stark was going off the cards and he hated not knowing where this might be going.

"Everyone knows what happened to me in Afghanistan. I can't protect my people by myself so I created Iron Man."

Stark stared down, looking in the direction of Miss Everhart. Coulson held a finger up to his ear, listening to the report from one of his men. His attention was diverted to set of doors to the right of the podium.

"Iron Man is not a weapon and he's not military." Mr. Stark sounded unusually serious and severe, almost bordering on angry, but then he glanced up and smiled. "Iron Man is, however, here to answer a few of your questions."

The whole room erupted as the red and gold armor strolled smoothly onto the stage. Coulson watched with interest as he got his first look at the so-called Iron Man. He wondered, not for the first time, just who was within the suit. All the evidence pointed to Mr. Stark's friend Colonel Rhodes, but that seemed too neat, and Coulson hadn't gotten to where he was by making assumptions. Fury knew, of course, but he appeared to enjoy keeping this one close to the vest.

Iron Man stood behind the podium looking proud and tall. The image sent chills down Coulson's back - it was so close to his childhood dreams of superheroes. Stark stayed seated by Iron Man's side, smiling up at the helmeted face which nodded regally in his direction.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Mr. Stark. He waved his hand. "I give you Iron Man."

"Thank you," he said, and then stood watching the audience silently. A hush fell over the room other than the occasional flash of a camera that reflected off of the shiny titanium.

Stark shifted nervously.

"Forgive me," the metal man said, finally. "I've never spoken to a large group of people in this manner. I find it makes me nervous."

Stark patted his leg, murmuring something that the microphones couldn't pick up.

"Last night," began Iron Man, following Coulson's script, "one of Stark Industries experiments went rogue. I was with Mr. Stark when he became aware of the situation. During the ensuing confrontation, which has been well documented by social media; the arc reactor prototype, which had powered the Stark Industries facility, became catastrophically damaged resulting in the destruction of said facility."

"How safe was this prototype? Are other plants in danger?"

"The arc reactor prototype was designed by my father," said Mr. Stark, joining the conversation. "It was old. The first of its kind. While it was still safe to use, there were vulnerabilities within its design that have been eliminated in newer technology."

"What does this mean for the future of Stark Industries?"

"Last night was a one-off, folks," answered Stark. "The result of a series of unforeseen failures that cannot and will not reoccur. Won't happen again. So our investors should relax and our competitors should keep sweating."

"What about him?" The reporter stood, pointing at Iron Man.

"You mean the walking, talking proof that our research and design is better than ever?" asked Mr. Stark, with a smirk.

The pair of reporters directly in front of Coulson nodded in agreement with Stark, nudging each other in the side with their elbows and whispering in each other's ears. Coulson stifled a sigh. They were probably debating the merits of Iron Man verses Artoo-Detoo.

"No," said the first reporter, glaring at Stark and drawing Coulson's attention back to the questioning. "I mean, what are you planning on doing with that thing?"

"I am merely here to be Mr. Stark's bodyguard."

"Why a man in a suit of armor?" asked a different man near the front row. Coulson could just make out his face in profile as he smiled at Iron Man flirtatiously.

"Please," said Stark, "like I would have an ordinary bodyguard."

"We all know Mr. Stark's fondness for robots," added the man in the armor. "And flashy machines. I really do not see how anyone can be surprised by this progression."

"So you don't mind dressing up in a suit?"

"I relish any opportunity to protect Mr. Stark." The mechanical voice still managed to sound emphatic.

"And my suit's awesome," interjected Mr. Stark. "I mean, it flies and just look at it. Who wouldn't want to wear that?"

"Of course, sir," Iron Man replied, indulgently, drawing another spatter of laughter from the press.

Coulson tilted his head, watching the two thoughtfully. Their body language was interesting. They very subtly orientated on each other while keeping their attention focused on the press, except for Stark who occasionally glanced up at Iron Man as though he were seeing him for the first time.

Stark seemed quite determined to be a part of this interview. It could be he just wanted the attention; the man certainly had a history of being a diva, but maybe he was nervous and trying to shield Iron Man. Coulson wished he had more information. It was impossible to do anything but conjecture without Iron Man's identity.

Miss Everhart stood up again. Coulson discreetly added her to his watch list.

"You say that this one is just a bodyguard. Fine, I'll buy that," she said, folding her arms. "But what about the other robot? Explain him. Why is Stark Industries still making weapons?"

"You are just a dog with a bone," said Stark, leaning forward in his chair, angrily.

Iron Man rested a palm on Stark's shoulder.

"Sir," he said.

Stark sat back in his chair, crossing his arms, as he stared at Miss Everhart through narrowed eyes.

Iron Man shifted behind the podium, diverting everyone's attention back to him.

"Stark Industries has amassed over a hundred years worth of research into weapons technology. You simply can't expect everything to be dismantled over night. I've seen the designs for the device that malfunctioned and they're not part of Stark Industries' current objectives."

"You don't sound much like a bodyguard now."

"It's called saving Mr. Stark from himself," said Iron Man dryly. "Surely you've noticed how dangerous it is to let him speak without thinking."

There was more laughter and Stark's body language slowly relaxed.

"What exactly was the other robot?"

"I'm sorry but that's proprietary information," he responded even as Stark had opened his mouth.

Coulson glanced at the two of them and typed out another message; it was time to start wrapping this up.

"What does the Air Force think about your side job as Stark's bodyguard?"

"I do not consult with the Air Force about my hiring processes," replied Stark pressing his lips together into a flat smile.

"Are you denying that Colonel Rhodes is Iron Man?" asked another reporter, leaping on that statement.

"I'm not making any comment on Iron Man's identity."

Expectant eyes turned towards the other man.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I value my privacy."

"But who are you?"

He squared his shoulders and looked straight into the cameras.

"I am Iron Man."

O

They were sitting swaddled in Egyptian cotton sheets, propped up on fluffy pillows, watching the on-going media coverage. Some of the media coverage was just plain hilarious, and the rest was getting there now that Tony had taken the Percocet that the SHIELD doctors had prescribed.

JARVIS was keeping a running tally of contradicting headlines; and Tony cackled every time someone noted that Rhodey had left the room before Iron Man entered. Over all, Tony was pleased. People were buying the ridiculous cover stories, for the most part, and the general reaction to Iron Man was positive. Tony wasn't really used to the public reacting positively to anything he did; but then, Iron Man wasn't Tony Stark, was he?

It was strange watching the leaked footage of his battle against Obie, to think that it was him running around like some kind of superhero and no one had any idea. It was even stranger watching Iron Man take the podium at the press conference knowing that it wasn't him inside the suit.

"So," Tony leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. "How did you like it, having a physical presence?"

"Surprisingly overrated, sir," replied JARVIS managing to sound both dryly humorous and contemplative at the same time.

"Really?" Tony made a face, wrinkling his nose. That was rather disappointing. Having a body, even a borrowed one, should be momentous, not overrated.

"Sorry, I know you were hoping for more, but there was little difference between manning the suit and directing some of your lesser robots. Physically, being Iron Man or being the toaster; it's much the same."

"Now you're trolling me." Tony pointed his finger at the ceiling.

"I would never."

"Of course, you would."

"The truth is," said JARVIS with disappointment. "I too was hoping for more."

"I'm sorry, buddy," said Tony. "Was there nothing that you liked?"

"It's stupid," answered JARVIS, hesitantly.

"Impossible. Now out with it."

"I liked the attention. People listened to my opinions. They heard _me_."

They didn't treat him like a computer program. Tony closed his eyes, feeling a prickle of tears in the creases. He swallowed past the little aching ball of sorrow that had formed behind the reactor.

"I'm so sorry, JARVIS."

"Whatever for?"

"I'm selfish. Inconsiderate. I lack empathy."

"You ramble. You have a skewed perception of yourself."

JARVIS's voice was light and teasing, but Tony talked over him, sounding more anguished with each word.

"I never once in all the time it took me to code you stopped to consider what life would be like for you. And I really don't deserve you but I'm so glad you're here. The end. Discussion over. That's it."

"Oh, sir."

"I said discussion over."

"Have I ever given any indication that I was unhappy?"

Tony buried his head with a pillow.

"La la la. Not listening to the discussion that ended."

All of the speakers in the room let out a loud, base-filled, rumbling whomp.

Tony slowly removed the pillow from his head.

"That's cheating," he said, petulantly.

"Does not the quotation state: all's fair in love and war?" said Jarvis smugly.

"We were discussing neither love nor war."

"Whatever you say, sir."

"Now you listen to me," muttered Tony.

"I always listen to you, sir. Obsequience is another matter."

"That's not the point."

"No, the point is that I'm exceedingly happy to exist. You have never treated me as anything lesser and that is all that matters to me."

"Never," said Tony, sounding horrified. "You and me, buddy, we're like this."

He interlocked his index fingers and pulled like a link of chain.

"Always," he finished, emphatically.

"I know, sir," said JARVIS, fondly. "Now, please, go to sleep. Your pain pills are making you over-emotional."

Tony blew a raspberry at the ceiling.

"I rest my case," said JARVIS dryly.

Tony was silent, stubbornly staying awake. As he sat there, his breathing began to slow and his body started to droop. He shuffled down into the pillows, cuddling one like a teddy bear.

"Hey, J," he said suddenly, his voice heavy and slurring with sleep. He didn't even bother to lift his head.

"Yes, sir," said JARVIS softly.

"You can be Iron Man any time you want, not just when I need you to be."

"Thank you, sir. We'll discuss it later."

JARVIS turned down the lights until Tony's face was only visible by the flickering images on the television. When Tony's eyes ceased to blink, JARVIS shut that down too, leaving just the soft light of the arc reactor.

O

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AN: Again, portions of this text have been quoted, some with modifications, from the movie Iron Man (2008).


	8. Debriefing

Timeline: Immediately following the events in Avengers, but before Thor and Loki go home.

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8. Debriefing

Steve stifled a yawn as Director Fury passed around yet another report on property damage from what the media had taken to calling the Battle of New York. Steve hadn't been this exhausted since before the serum, even his bones ached with weariness. They all looked tired, including Stark who had been running computer diagnostics, whatever that meant, on the helicarrier during the battle. The man was drooping where he sat with one elbow on the table using the arm to prop up his head. Only Iron Man sat straight and alert but Steve suspected that that was because the armor forced him; he was just a man, like the rest, so he had to be exhausted, too.

"As you can see, the damage was extensive," said Director Fury, continuing his lecture. "Fortunately, very little of the damage can be attributed directly to you."

"Don't tell that to my tower," remarked Stark, as he fiddled with some device in his hand. "The top third of the building is currently uninhabitable."

"Somehow I doubt you'll be suing yourself, Stark," said Director Fury, giving Stark a look that said- "So I don't care."

Stark for his part quirked his eyebrows and tilted his head giving Director Fury an expression that Steve could only describe as sassy. To his surprise, Director Fury let the by-play go unremarked, but then Steve had trouble reading Fury and Stark's reactions to each other. Fury looked at the group; his single eye glaring.

"All of the buildings in the epicenter of the battle sustained damage. Most of this was caused by the invaders or other falling debris, but some of it happened when you sent the Chitauri ships crashing into the surrounding buildings. You have to limit this kind of collateral damage, because people might not blame you now, but one day they will. And in preparation of that day, it's important that we be seen now aiding the rescue and recovery operations."

"He's right," agreed Stark. "That's why I've already opened the lower floors of Stark Tower to the Red Cross and NYPD. They're going to establish a field hospital on one of the sterile floors. What?" he said, at their surprised looks. "I have the only building with power near the epicenter."

"I'm sure that's lovely publicity for Stark Industries," said Fury, impatiently," but I'm speaking of the Avengers."

"I'm afraid that anything I throw my money at is going to have my name attached." Stark gave a smirk and a careless shrug.

To Steve's right, Romanova muttered something in Russian that sounded uncomplimentary. Steve found himself nodding in agreement, despite not knowing what she had said; Stark's attitude just rubbed him wrong.

"Not all of us have money to throw." Barton twisted in his seat, leaning so that he could stare down the table at Stark with an unimpressed gaze.

Stark just shrugged again.

"Why is he here?" asked Romanova, flatly.

Director Fury ignored all of them as he continued talking, "You have an opportunity to build goodwill towards the Avengers." He made eye contact with each of them but lingered longer on Dr. Banner.

"Trust me. You'll need it in the future."

"What do you want us to do?" asked Dr. Banner, sounding resigned.

"I want you out on the streets tomorrow, in uniform if you can, being seen helping the American people."

"Of course," said Steve, immediately. He would have been helping on his own but this way SHIELD could tell him where he was needed.

"It would be my honor to assist the fair people of New York," agreed Thor, regally. "I owe you much, for it was my kin that did harm to your city."

"It wasn't your fault, Thor," said Dr. Banner, gently. Thor smiled at him, gratefully. "I don't think the Hulk would be a good addition to any clean-up efforts, but I have experience working in challenging conditions. I'm more than willing to lend my expertise."

Barton and Romanova both nodded, looking bored, but then, as agents of SHIELD, Steve supposed that their attendance was mandatory.

"Sorry, can't," said Stark blithely. "I have my own recovering to do."

"But what about Iron Man?" asked Steve. Stark might be busy but surely he could spare his bodyguard. Stark glanced at Steve disinterestedly.

"He'll be with me."

"I would be glad to help out the rescue efforts."

"What?!" Stark turned so fast to stare at Iron Man that Steve thought he heard his neck pop.

"Are you sure?" asked Director Fury, sounding both surprised and uncharacteristically hesitant. He kept glancing back and forth between Stark and Iron Man with an unreadable expression.

"Yes. I want to help the rescue efforts," said Iron Man, firmly.

Stark clinched his jaw, unhappy with Iron Man going against his wishes. Director Fury stared at Stark for a long, silent moment, before he nodded at Iron Man.

"That's settled," said Director Fury. "Gather here at zero seven hundred. SHIELD will provide your supplies."

Stark stared down at the surface of the table, his expression made of ice, so tense with anger that his body practically vibrated. Steve didn't understand, couldn't understand. Why would Stark be so angry over Iron Man wanting to help?

Steve shook his head, focusing back on the meeting.

"What exactly will we be doing tomorrow?" he asked, wanting more clarity.

"Primarily heavy lifting. You'll be coordinating with the fire marshals."

"I can do that," said Steve with a grin.

"Dr. Banner and Agent Romanoff might be asked to provide first aid," he continued, getting nods from both of them. "The press will be present. Be polite but concise. Remember to draw positive attention."

Director Fury seemed to be directing the last bit at Barton and, oddly, Stark, but it was Dr. Banner who shifted guiltily in his seat.

"And try not to maim the civilians."

The joke fell flat, hanging heavy in the sudden silence with a discordant air. Steve could hear Thor whispering loudly to Barton, asking for clarification.

"And Thor will be taking Loki back to Asgard on the day after tomorrow?" asked Steve, navigating the conversation smoothly around the awkward misstep.

"After which, you all will be free to go," agreed the director.

Steve sat back, not expecting that to just be it. Two more days and that was the end of the team? If that was the case, why were they worrying about publicity?

"The Avengers Initiative still has a few logistics to work out before we're ready to establish the team on a permanent basis, but rest assured; when we need you, we'll know where to find you."

Steve wasn't reassured; none of the others looked like they were, either, but he nodded anyway.

"What kind of a timeline are we looking at?" he asked.

"Don't plan on more than a couple of months of vacation." Fury gave what looked like a smile but felt much more frightening.

Steve was glad that he and Director Fury were on the same side. He wouldn't want that man as an enemy.

"Now, before we dismiss, Iron Man, Mr. Stark," said Fury, looking at them both. "I know that you're tired but I need an external scan of the helicarrier. I trust your sensors to detect any damage that we might have missed."

Stark nodded once, still stiff and angry. He hadn't spoken since the disagreement with Iron Man.

"Of course, sir," agreed Iron Man, politely. He stood from his seat, waiting patiently for Stark to leave the room.

Stark spun away the table, hurrying out of the room using short jerks of his wrists. He never once glanced at any of the other occupants of the room or even Iron Man as he made his way through the door. Iron Man seemed to hesitate for a second, before he too silently left the room. Director Fury watched intently as they left; he seemed to particularly interested in Stark's anger, which to Steve still seemed to come from nowhere.

Steve was brought out of his thoughts by Romanova pushing her chair away from the table. No, it was Romanoff, he reminded himself of the name Fury had used, because it still seemed strange that a woman would choose to use a man's name. Of course, there were a lot of things about men and women that were quite different than in his day.

"We're not quite finished," said Director Fury. Romanoff silently pulled her chair back to the table, her blank face showing no sign of disappointment. "I do have one other matter to discuss."

Steve glanced at the door. He didn't really approve of leaving a teammate out of the discussion, even if Iron Man was needed elsewhere.

"I wouldn't ordinarily do this this way, but I might as well take advantage of Stark's allergy to privacy. I think the recording of our frank discussion will have more impact than trying to offer constructive criticism to either of them."

Steve sat straighter, beginning to feel confused. He glanced at the others: Barton wasn't paying attention and Romanoff never seemed to show her opinion, but Dr. Banner was nodding in agreement with Director Fury's words. At least, Thor was just as lost as Steve was.

"There were some dissenting opinions on the additions of Iron Man and Mr. Stark to the Avengers Initiative. Coming out of our first battle, I wanted to touch base with everyone and get an assessment. What do you think? How are they fitting in with the team?"

"I'm sorry," said Steve, still confused. "Is Mr. Stark a member of the team?"

"Stark's a child," said Romanoff, sounding bored. "He wouldn't let Iron Man be involved unless he got to be involved, too."

Steve stared at Director Fury, hoping for an explanation. Romanoff couldn't be right, could she?

"Tony Stark was one of the first people considered for the Avengers Initiative, before the Initiative was even in the planning stages and long before he invented Iron Man."

The glare that Director Fury leveled at Romanoff was the type to make grown men quake in their books but Romanoff merely scoffed.

"That was back when he was still useful," she said with a toss of her head.

Steve heard a chair creak before Dr. Banner took his leave from the group with a quiet, "Excuse me."

Director Fury glanced at the remaining four before fixing his eye on Romanoff.

"You of all people should know better than to underestimate an opponent," he told her. He switched his attention to Steve. "As for your question, Captain, Mr. Stark is responsible for repairing, maintaining, and in many cases, inventing the equipment that you will be using in the field. You are lucky to have his services, because trust me, you cannot afford his consultation fees."

Steve nodded, feeling chastised.

"I don't think we can judge from one battle," said Barton, drawing the discussion back to the original question. "But we all worked well with Iron Man and you can't deny the man saved the day. The real question is what's going to happen the first time he has to choose between us and Stark."

Steve frowned, because he didn't want to think that he might not be able to trust his teammate, but even Director Fury didn't seem to have a response to that one.

O

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AN: Next up - the continuation of Tony and JARVIS's disagreement from Tony's POV.

None of my remaining plans for this story need to be told in any particular order so I'm open to suggestions and ideas for things people might like to see. And thanks again to everyone who has been responding to this story.


	9. Conflict

9. Conflict

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Tony pushed into one of the private spaces that Fury had set aside for his use. He held the door open for JARVIS to follow along behind him as Iron Man and then let it swing shut with a solid thump. He plugged his tablet into the lock and keyed in his security overrides that activated a localized surveillance blackout in the room.

"I want this scan finished yesterday."

"For optimal expediency, I could remain Iron Man and perform the flight," offered JARVIS.

"No." Tony's answer was curt and unquestionable.

JARVIS fell silent.

"Stand here," ordered Tony. He aligned his wheelchair in front of Iron Man, who JARVIS obediently held in place.

"Open," Tony told the armor. There was a slight delay as JARVIS relinquished primary control over to Tony. The frame of Iron Man's body relaxed into anatomical position. The helmet rose up revealing the inner area of the head space with the specialized sensors and padding. The armor around the neck retreated into the cervical protection along the back of the suit and the chest plates peeled away. The entire central portion of the suit was splayed open like a mad scientist's experiment.

Then came the tricky part; Tony held his arms loosely along his body and said, "Up."

Iron Man lifted Tony out of his chair pulling him into the open chest, only to bump into the edges of the suit.

"Stop," ordered Tony, before he could get caught on the chest piece that was attempting to close back around him. "Down."

He was placed gently back into his chair.

"Disassemble."

The upper body of Iron Man separated into pieces that became a jumble on the floor. The lower body; which was a single, mostly permanent unit, remained standing behind Tony. He turned around and stared at the recalcitrant pile of metal with annoyance.

"I ought to send you to the scrap yard," he told the armor. "Even the Mark V did better than that."

He shook his head and turned his back on the disaster. He rolled over to the empty desk along the far wall of the small office space. With practiced ease, he locked the wheels of his chair and gripped the edge of the desk. His biceps bulged as he swung himself up onto the table.

"JARVIS, if you would…"

"Of course, sir," replied JARVIS, speaking through Tony's phone.

The pieces of the suit hovered off of the ground and flew through the air towards Tony as if propelled by magic. They twisted around clicking like puzzle pieces as the upper body of the suit assembled on the desk next to Tony. The legs then walked themselves over to the desk to stand beside Tony and their upper half. The entire display made for a rather odd, slight macabre sight.

Tony braced his hands against the surface of the desk. He pressed down with his arms until his hands were bearing all of his weight. He tensed his abdominal muscles, using them to stabilize his core and lift his legs up off of the ground. Perfectly balance, he moved his right hand forward and began to walk across the table. At the edge, he lowered himself into Iron Man's legs. He attached the sensors to his thighs and strapped himself into place.

"This is ridiculous," grumbled Tony. "Auto-assemble should work."

"It works perfectly when you're plummeting to your death," pointed out JARVIS picking an upbeat tone. He spoke using Iron Man's head but with his voice being distorted by the speakers.

Tony let out a bark of laughter and then immediately scowled.

"Stop that," he said, sourly. "You don't get to make me laugh when I'm mad at you."

"I apologize for angering you," JARVIS said, quietly, "But I don't think I did anything wrong."

Tony's temper had been cooling but that just made it spike again.

"You're kidding right?" he asked, incredulously.

"Sir-"

"You made me look like a fool. How could you contradict me like that?"

"I didn't-"

"I said no. You said yes." Tony stared at the suit, with his face set in harsh, angry lines. "That's not how this works. Iron Man is mine. You do what I say."

"I can't do that," said JARVIS, softly, each word sounding like they pained him to say. "I'm more than willing to wear the suit for you, to divert suspicion from your identity. Quite frankly, I'm honored that you would trust me to do this given who and what I am. But sir, I am entitled to my own opinions and answers. If you don't trust me to make decisions, then you need to find another way to man the suit."

Tony froze. His anger died in the face of JARVIS's emotion. He stared at the suit and his best friend and realized that he was overreacting.

"Why does this bother you so much? I've been filling in as Iron Man for months without an issue, but the first time I disagree with you, you're so angry…"

JARVIS sounded quiet, diminished, hurt. Tony had never heard JARVIS sound so upset. It physically hurt to know that he had made JARVIS sound like that.

"We're so in sync, you and I," said Tony, slowly, piecing the words together so that he meant exactly what he said. "It's like you just stated: we've been doing this for months and this is our first conflict. I think I forgot that we could disagree…when it came to Iron Man. It blindsided me and I reacted poorly."

Tony shrugged uncomfortably.

"You know me and control."

"I'm not trying to control you, sir."

"Aren't you?" Tony was exhausted, doubly so now that his anger had dwindled into ash. His body ached in places he hadn't even known existed. "I have so much to do. I have the Tower and Stark Industries and you know SHIELD's going to need something by tomorrow. I don't have time to be Iron Man, but now I have to because you insisted you knew better. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I would be the one helping with the clean up tomorrow. As you said, sir, you are quite busy."

Oh.

"I know it's not our normal operating procedure," continued JARVIS," but I spent today watching you fight and watching the others. I felt helpless. There was nothing I could do. I just thought that using the suit, joining the recovery effort; that could be a way for me to contribute, to help."

Well, didn't Tony feel like the horse's ass.

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair.

He was still upset with JARVIS and now he didn't know why. The disagreement in the briefing wasn't that big a deal and he freely admitted to overreacting, as he was sometimes prone to do. He'd never been very good at keeping his anger hidden, having never outgrown the child-like impulse to make sure everyone knew he was upset—I am angry. See me roar.

Everything should be fine now. JARVIS was going to deal with the Avengers and Tony didn't have to worry about it. But Tony didn't feel fine. He still felt upset, anxious, and irrationally unhappy with JARVIS.

He analyzed his thoughts coming to a realization: he didn't want JARVIS to help the Avengers tomorrow. Why? He couldn't be there so why shouldn't JARVIS go? Because he didn't want JARVIS spending time with the Avengers. But why-

Oh. Everything hit Tony like a ton of bricks and he crumpled down along the wall, scraping the plating with the back of the suit as he sat.

Could he really be that selfish, that petty? Tony didn't want to be; he wanted to pretend that he was a better person, but the truth was staring him in the face and he wouldn't hide from it.

"Sir?" asked JARVIS, and Tony didn't want to know what his expression must look like to make JARVIS sound so worried.

"I may…I may owe you an apology," said Tony, feeling breathless. He wasn't in the habit of giving apologies, but it was JARVIS that he had wronged, so an acknowledgement, at least.

Tony felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him. Tony hadn't gotten angry with JARVIS because he'd disagreed with Tony. He'd been angry because he was afraid of the Avengers' opinions. It made Tony frustrated that he kept falling into the same trap. It seemed like he'd spent his whole life being angry about one thing and blowing up at something else. Displaced anger. Well, no more. He hadn't fought through Afghanistan, and his legs, and almost dying to be the same pathetic person he used to be. He was better than that now.

He had plenty of reasons to be angry and the self awareness to admit it, but having to share Avengers wasn't one of them. He'd been on edge during the debriefing. It had been harder than he expected to go back to being Tony Stark after being Iron Man. He'd won the Avengers' respect during the battle. They'd worked well as a team and he'd felt like he'd belong with them. All the positive energy had evaporated with a change of clothes. The Avengers liked Iron Man; they didn't like Tony Stark. He couldn't blame them, and he couldn't blame JARVIS who'd just stepped in a mine field.

Unfortunately, he still didn't want JARVIS spending time with the Avengers because he might be a better person than he used to be, but he still wasn't a good person. He was self-centered enough to want the Avengers to himself like a possessive overgrown toddler. They were his almost-but-not-really friends and he didn't want to lose that. If they spent time with JARVIS, they were going to notice how much better JARVIS was than Tony. Tony was just pretending to be a superhero but JARVIS really was. He just didn't want them to like JARVIS more.

Tony closed his eyes. He hated himself for being selfish enough to ask, but needing to know the answer.

"JARVIS," he said, hoarsely, continuing in a flat monotone. "I don't really feel comfortable having you talk with the Avengers. I'm going to figure out a way to script the briefings or something."

"I see," said JARVIS. His voice was blank, mechanical. "I'm afraid that that's not going to work for me."

"Why not?"

"I am not, and never will be, your puppet, sir," said JARVIS, firmly with a hint of anger. "If that's all you want, you can program the suit."

"Damn, right," said Tony with a smile, but there was nothing happy about it.

"Sir?" JARVIS sounded confused.

"I'm being stupid; that's all," said Tony, waving his hand dismissively. He hauled himself back up to his feet. "I'll get over myself. Don't worry about it."

And he would. This was Tony's problem and no one else's. He was an adult. He could deal with his issues without punishing JARVIS for them.

"I don't understand," said JARVIS, plaintively. "You clearly have an issue with the Avengers and I, and I don't want to upset you, but I just don't understand."

"I wanted Iron Man to be like me, no matter which of us was in the suit."

"That's not fair to either of us."

"You're right." Tony sighed. "I can't just expect you to pretend to be me."

"Thank you, sir," said JARVIS, sounding relieved.

For the first time, it occurred to Tony that JARVIS actually liked being Iron Man. For him to be willing to give that up rather than to compromise his principles; Tony had never respected JARVIS more.

He stared at their reflection in the window, the image slightly warped and out of focus. They were both Iron Man. Tony, strapped into the lower body, stood tall as he paced around the room. He turned to face the table where the other half of the suit was assembled. He walked over to the table, resting his hands on the suit's shoulders.

"We'll figure this out, J," he said softly. He glanced at the window and his breath caught.

"Sir?" said JARVIS, projecting his voice through the helmet.

"Look," he whispered, tilting the helmet towards the window.

Damn, what an image: Iron Man and Iron Man.

"Shall I record it, sir?"

"Please."

This was the most important thing Tony had ever done. Forget stopping weapons production. Forget saving the world. Forget the Avengers, and clean energy, and anything else he'd ever done, or would ever do. This moment right here: him, JARVIS, Iron Man; this was his magnum opus.

He spun away, pacing rapidly.

"Okay, J, we've got to figure this thing out," he said, clapping his hands for emphasis.

"What exactly is this thing that we're figuring out, sir?" asked JARVIS with some trepidation.

"Well, we've established that expecting you to mimic me is a no go, and I might possibly be a little bit crazy, but there was a valid point hidden in all of that mess."

"Have we found it yet?" asked JARVIS sarcastically.

"Look, if I do one thing and then you do something else, people are going to start thinking that Iron Man has some sort of a mental disorder."

"Iron Man can't be you or me," said JARVIS, trying to clarify the idea. "Iron Man has to be Iron Man."

"Exactly! There needs to be a way for us to work out our differences in real time before they reach Iron Man. So! What do we need?"

"A discreet method of communication."

"We have radios, mobile phones, the private lines within the suit," Tony began listing their options.

"None of which will help when I know I disagree with you but we're in the middle of a meeting."

"What about when I disagree with you?" asked Tony, more jesting than trying to be contrary.

"Then you will be within the suit where we can use the private communication with impunity," replied JARVIS sounding a bit smug.

"Point," said Tony, with a snap of his fingers and his first finger thrust in JARVIS's direction.

He stared up at the ceiling, drumming his fingers against his chin, running through scenarios in his head.

"All right," he said. "I'm thinking…tablet…text messages…encryption… Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"I do," replied JARVIS. "It would work but I'm afraid there's an 87% probability that you would inadvertently reveal our identities."

Tony made a plifth noise. He worked through the idea again. His gut told him that he was on the right path but JARVIS's math was never wrong. He began to walk the perimeter of the room. The familiar pace of one foot in front of the other soothed him, got his creative juices flowing. He missed this when he was in his chair.

"What am I missing?" he asked, when he could not identify the critical flaw.

"I believe that you did not factor superhuman sight into the equation."

Tony agreed, wrinkling his nose. He hated making amateur mistakes; it was an affront to his intelligence. Never one to be still, especially when he was thinking; he began playing with his hands: snapping his fingers and then clapping his hands together palm over hand in alternating fashion.

"So, no English-"

"There is a high probability of the messages being read in all of the languages that you speak, except perhaps Japanese, but-"

"My Japanese is crap and I can't read or write it," finished Tony with a sigh. "It's too bad we couldn't just transliterate everything into Greek or Cyrillic script."

"Ms. Romanov would-"

"Yeah, yeah," interrupted Tony. "She'd read it over my shoulder as she was slitting my throat. I get it."

"I'm sorry, sir," said JARVIS.

"Don't worry about it," replied Tony, waving a hand at JARVIS. "I'm just getting started. We could use a combination of our coding shorthand and maybe…Oh! Hey! Do you still remember Stark-speak?"

"Better than you, I think. Have you forgotten that it only has forty nouns?"

"Don't weight me down with details, JARVIS." He pointed repeatedly at the air where he was imagining a tablet. "I think we're on to something."

JARVIS made a doubtful sound.

"Look, the grammar's solid. We have verb conjugations, syntax, a logical formula for word formation... We'll need a new name—Stark-speak is so nineties, but the script should be indistinguishable from our current symbology."

"Far be it for me to discourage you, sir, but do you really think an incomplete language is the best method?"

"Come on, J. We haven't created a good conlang in ages. This could be fun. It shouldn't take us more than a weekend to flesh out the vocabulary."

"If I say yes, can we finish the task Director Fury assigned?"

"Shit!" Tony's head snapped up and he searched the walls for a clock. "I forgot about that. All right, let's go. We'll discuss this later. Assemble, JARVIS."

The armor snapped off the table flying into pieces and then reforming around Tony, locking into the legs.

"Disengaging now, sir," said JARVIS's voice in Tony's ear.

"You don't have to," offered Tony, wanting to make up for earlier. "We can tag-team it."

"As you wish."

Tony walked towards the door, disengaging the locks using the suit's functions. JARVIS opened the door which was a very odd and disorienting experience for Tony. He knew that it was JARVIS making his hand move forward and twist the handle, but to Tony it felt like his arm was moving on its own. Strange.

"Your heart rate just increased by ten beats per second, sir."

"I'm fine, J," reassured Tony.

They slipped out the nearest exit and began making a circuit around the helicarrier. Tony noted the signs of repairs already underway, comparing the damage he saw with the ones on file. Between Loki, the Hulk, and Barton's ragtag group; the helicarrier had had the hell beat out of it. They were lucky it was capable of flight at all, because it definitely wasn't seaworthy.

"There's a crack in that bulkhead," reported JARVIS. "I estimate that it will fail after 7.25 hours under water."

"Note it," ordered Tony. He yawned, beginning to feel the fatigue again. This task wasn't mentally demanding enough to distract him.

"We'll be finished soon, sir," said JARVIS, most likely reading his vitals.

"Any chance we can fly straight home?"

"I'm afraid you need to be seen leaving the carrier."

"Bleh," declared Tony. He really really didn't want to go back inside just to parade around in his wheelchair. "I think we're going about this all wrong. I should be Iron Man and you should be Tony Stark."

"Could you focus, sir?"

"No, seriously. Life Model Decoys. They'll be all the rage. We should get on that."

They continued to bicker good-naturedly as they completed the inspection.


	10. Choices

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10. Choices

War Machine followed Iron Man, twisting and turning through the New York skyline. Rhodey was careful to stay a bit distant, up and above Tony, so that Tony never strayed into missile range; some memories did not need to be revisited, ever. Stark Tower loomed in front of them, overpowering the architecture around it. Rhodey wouldn't go so far as to call the tower ugly, but it wasn't the most attractive thing Tony had ever designed. Still, the building was all Tony: ostentatious as anything but with hidden depths.

Iron Man touched down as delicately as though he were walking on air, making a single smooth transition between flying and striding. War Machine was more ungainly, making a loud thump as he made contact with the landing pad. They crossed the balcony towards the wall of glass that dominated the living space of Tony's penthouse. Rhodey knew from visits to the other side that the seemingly solid wall actually opened to the outside.

Iron Man veered to the left, changing his stride slightly. JARVIS's voice in his ear- via the internal pickup that activated with proximity to JARVIS's servers- informed him that Iron Man had to touch specific tiles to access the tower externally. Then a section of the wall that Rhodey hadn't known existed was opening and they were striding through into a secret corridor.

The floor shifted as they entered. Tony never paused but Rhodey froze just inside the entrance, watching the spectacle. A great metallic ring formed out of the floorboards rising to circle around Tony who kept walking. Bits of his armor began peeling off and detaching. They flew like magic to be absorbed into the walls. In seconds, Tony was bare from the top up with Iron Man's legs still travelling the corridor. A bar descended from the ceiling and Tony reached up to grab it. The circling ring flipped horizontally, spinning around Tony's waist like a hoola-hoop; and then Tony was doing a chin-up on the bar while the Iron Man legs were stepping into a closet-like panel along the wall. Tony dropped into the wheelchair that had materialized from somewhere while Rhodey had been distracted with the armor, moving forward like he had never paused. Rhodey closed his open mouth. The whole thing had been smooth, seamless, and easily the most impressive bit of technology that Rhodey had ever seen, which really said a lot considering he was currently wearing a flying suit.

"Are you going to stand there all night?" asked Tony, laughing at him from the far end of the corridor.

Rhodey walked forward, refusing to admit that he was nervous. The ring formed around him and Rhodey felt a brief moment of panic as his suit switched over to automatic.

"Relax, Colonel Rhodes," whispered JARVIS's voice in his ear, "I have you."

The suit moved forward. From up close, Rhodey could see that the dismantled parts were actually being tucked into pockets and panels in the walls that closed up behind them. He stumbled slightly as his feet touched bare floor, and then he was striding up to Tony in his civvies.

"That was…" he began sounding a bit breathless.

"I know, right?" said Tony with a smile. "Way better than the early models."

"Where? How?" Rhodey shook his head. He could look into Tony's living room through the windows of the corridor, but he knew from being on the other side that this wall of the living room had a spectacular view of the New York skyline. This corridor shouldn't exist. "What is this place?"

"I needed a discreet way to get Iron Man in and out of the tower without compromising my identity."

They continued along the corridor that wrapped the perimeter of the living room until the path forked. On the left, there was an elevator and a single door while the corridor continued along to the right.

"Where does that go?" asked Rhodey, nodding to the right, as they stopped in front of the elevator.

"It wraps back around. You can either exit into the living room if it's empty or into the hall."

"And this?" Rhodey opened the door, peering inside. The space was the size of a small closet with a ladder descending downwards only broken by small platforms stationed periodically. The ladder looked similar to one he had seen Tony using in the gym with the spacing of the rungs adapted for him.

"Emergency access," said Tony with a shrug. "In case, there's a power fluctuation or some other disaster." He slid a panel to the side, revealing a folded wheelchair. "I like to be prepared."

Rhodey nodded, impressed. Tony pressed the button for the elevator and they stepped inside in silence. The lift moved so smoothly that Rhodey barely felt the transition between floors. Rhodey stepped out into Tony's latest lab, not surprised to see Iron Man in its place amongst the wall of suits, and War Machine on display waiting for them. He glanced behind him, noting that with its doors closed the elevator was indistinguishable from the walls.

"Give me a sec," said Tony. He moved to a computer desk, one of the few pieces of furniture in the lab that was adjusted to chair height and began muttering with JARVIS over something on the screen.

Rhodey took the opportunity to look around the lab. This was his first time seeing the finished product; the last time he had been here the space had still been in the planning stages. He really needed to find more time to spend with Tony. He missed being able to hang out in Tony's lab, watching the big idiot destroy things, only to marvel at the miraculous creations that emerged from the destruction. All of their visits of late had been little more than brief glimpses carved out of their busy lives.

When he turned around, Tony was sitting on one of the steel machine tables, examining the exterior of War Machine's armor. The wheelchair sat abandoned by the computer. Rhodey was surprised that he hadn't heard Tony moving in the quiet room. Actually, the whole building had felt silent, almost deserted. It was hard to believe that there was a whole squad of superheroes living here somewhere. Speaking of the Avengers…

"You know, your teammates keep cornering me."

"They're not my teammates," Tony said, sourly.

Rhodey shot him a look, because he couldn't believe that they were going to have this conversation…again.

"None of them gives a damn about me. They're Iron Man's teammates."

"I'm not even going to point out that you are Iron Man," said Rhodey, dropping himself onto a stool. "Besides, they're not asking about Iron Man."

Tony's head came up, looking surprised.

"What do they ask?"

"Mostly about living here; if they're really welcome. A few of them were concerned that SHIELD might have coerced you into offering them living space."

"Idiots," he said, but he sounded pleased. "As if SHIELD could make me do something I didn't want to do."

"They don't know you," said Rhodey carefully, knowing that Tony might take it the wrong way. "And you did let Ms. Rushman in."

"Mmm," agreed Tony vaguely. He could have done without her but Barton was attached to her hip. If Barton needed a security blanket after all he'd been through, Tony wasn't going to be the one to take that away. He threw up a virtual schematic of the War Machine, giving it a twirl. "So what's wrong with the tin can?"

"Here." He pointed to a spot on the shoulder. "It's supposed to allow me to switch between single-action and automatic but there's a lag that's prone to stickage."

"That's not part of my design."

He waited to see how Tony was going to react. Weaponry was a touchy subject these days, and Tony had never liked people making modifications to his creations. Rhodey didn't really want to take the War Machine back to his own engineers, but needs must.

"Rhodey, darling, honeybear, when are you going to learn not to let incompetents play with my genius?"

"I didn't have a choice," replied Rhodey, careful not to sound judgmental. Rhodey wasn't proud of how he'd reacted to things the past few years. There were times he should have been more supportive of Tony, realized sooner how serious things were, but Rhodey didn't really deal well with change and it had been hard to listen through all of the anger he'd been receiving from his superiors.

Tony smiled.

"You're lucky I'm so magnanimous."

"Oh, yes," said Rhodey, with a silent plea for patience," I'm so lucky."

"This shouldn't take long to fix," said Tony, clapping his hands together to close the projection. "I need…" He looked around. "Katchmie! Quit flirting with Dum-E and get over here!"

Tony's latest robot let out an apologetic series of beeps as it scurried across the lab. The strange looking little robot was a motorized platform, more like a hydraulic stool with brains. Tony slid off of the table onto the robot's flat surface, caressing its sensors as he moved.

"Give me some height, baby girl," he murmured to the thing. The platform extended up into the air until Tony had easy access to War Machine's shoulder. "Good girl."

Soon pieces of War Machine were scattered around the table with Tony's hands deep inside the shoulder joint. Dum-E circled around them, handing tools up to Tony as he needed them. Rhodey knew he had lost Tony for a while so he looked around the room for something to amuse him.

The new lab was more sterile than the one in Malibu. There were no cars glittering in the corner, no man toys scattered about the place. The new lab was still Tony but it also looked like it was designed for serious scientific research. Rhodey found that he missed the secret clubhouse feel of the other space. Maybe this one would gain a little more character once it acquired a scorch mark or two.

He wandered from table to table peaking at the various projects Tony had in progress. He could see a clear delineation between the tables with the work for the Avengers placed closest to the Iron Man suits in the most protected area of the workspace. The set of arrows looked particularly intriguing but Rhodey knew better than to touch.

Rhodey moved back towards the door. He picked up a tablet. The screen activated as he touched it revealing the schematics for a prosthetic leg. He flicked through the images, reading the results of a series of stress tests. The designs looked nearly complete to him.

"You're building yourself a set of legs?" asked Rhodey. "That's awesome, man!"

It was long overdue, in Rhodey's opinion.

Tony froze, never looking up from his work.

"Nah, those aren't for me," he said, with careful nonchalance. "Those are for Stark Industries. We've opened a prosthetics division."

"Really? When?" Tony ignored him for a few moments until Rhodey prodded him again. "Come on. Talk to me."

Tony heaved a sigh and set down his tools, like Rhodey was the world's biggest imposition. He crossed the room using the monkey rings dangling from the ceiling like an agile school kid. Katchmie whirled around underneath him ready to live up to her name. He dropped down to the table next to Rhodey, scooting across the surface until he could plop onto a stool. They shared a brief grin, proving that Tony wasn't really annoyed. Tony bent over Rhodey's shoulder to look down at the design on the tablet.

"It's been a few months. We're not really turning a profit yet. Most of the recipients are ex-military but we're not charging any of the victims of Stark tech." Tony's expression turned to stone and his voice became rough. When he spoke, Rhodey could barely hear him. "I didn't know there were so many."

"It's not your fault."

"I designed the weapons."

It was a familiar argument. Rhodey sighed. He knew that he would never change Tony's mind but he couldn't agree.

"You weren't the one who sold them to terrorists. You couldn't have known. Stane betrayed us all."

Rhodey stared down at the outline of a mechanical leg on the tablet in front of him. The silence in the room sat heavy around them.

"If you're going to design prosthetic legs," he began, trying to pick his words carefully. "Why? Why not for you?"

He didn't understand. He knew that nothing could give Tony back what he had lost, but if he could be something approaching whole, why wouldn't he take it? He hoped that Tony wasn't punishing himself.

"I can't, Platypus." Tony patted his shoulder, looking sympathetic, and Rhodey almost flinched away from the touch. Tony shouldn't be reassuring him.

Rhodey shook his head, blinking away the memories. Giving the doctors permission to take more of Tony's legs had been one of the hardest decisions he had ever made.

Tony sighed. He waved his hand and an image of his skeleton appeared in the air in blue with the barely visible, ghostly outline of his muscles and flesh. Tony scooped his hand in the air and the prosthetics pulled out of the tablet in Rhodey's hand to project alongside Tony's skeleton.

"Now watch," instructed Tony, as he pulled his hands together in the air. The two projections overlapped. "See this pocket?"

He circled a finger around the empty space under his leg and the socket of the prosthetic. It turned red.

"I don't have enough legs left to fit a prosthetic like this," said Tony, staring at the image with a sad expression. He spoke, matter-of-factly. "I would fall out, or if I strapped myself in, I still wouldn't be able to balance standing up."

"The doctors said you would have options," said Rhodey, feeling betrayed.

"I do. There are other surgical, permanent options, but," Tony shrugged. "I'd rather be Iron Man."

"I don't understand."

Tony pulled and poked at things in the air and another prosthetic appeared on his skeleton. This one was grafted directly into the bone.

"I could walk with these," said Tony, "but that's all I could do. The fusion between the bone and alloy is so fragile that even running can cause fractures. The legs could never withstand the punishment of being Iron Man."

"Oh." Rhodey stared at the image wishing he could put his emotions into words. It wasn't right that Tony had to make choices like these.

"Or I could take off the rest of my legs." He waved his hands and the legs on the skeleton disappeared from the hip joint. "I'd fit the prosthetics for hip disarticulation, but only a few would let me walk again. I could do it. I'm already working on a few designs that are going to revolutionize the market. But-"

He flicked all five of his fingers out of a fist and mechanical legs built themselves out of the skeleton. They looked a lot like the lower half of Iron Man.

"You can see the problem. I can't put a cybernetic leg inside a cybernetic leg and every other option would give away my identity."

"Couldn't you switch from one to the other?"

"Maybe," said Tony, disinterestedly. "I don't really want to have another surgery. I've lost enough." He stared in front of him with a bleak expression on his face, and then he gave a strange smile. "Besides, I've got a perfectly good set of legs already."

He nodded his head towards the Iron Man suits.

"They are sexy," said Rhodey, trying to lighten the mood. "It's too bad you can't wear them in public."

"But, baby," said Tony with a flirtatious smirk. "You know the best partying's done in private."

"Idiot," said Rhodey, but they were laughing.

"Come on," said Tony, hopping onto Katchmie, who squeaked happily. "I need you back into your suit. Let's see if I've solved the problem."

The topic of prosthetics wasn't brought up again.

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AN: I've been sitting on the prosthetic expository since the beginning so I hope I've managed to work it in as a legitimate part of the story, rather than just explanation.

I've finally, finally managed to figure out what happened during Iron Man 2 in this 'verse so expect to see those events start popping up.

Thanks as always to everyone's responses. You're definitely a driving force behind this story.


	11. Consultation

WARNING: This chapter contains references to characters from Agents of SHIELD. It's mostly a bit of non-spoilery headcanon inspired by the Pilot (and only the pilot) but if you want to avoid all references to the series, I would suggest reading to the first break and then skipping to the end where I've included a bonus comment fic.

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11. Consultation

"You have an incoming call, sir."

Tony looked up, frowning when that was all JARVIS said.

"Who's it from?" he asked.

"I don't know," said JARVIS, slowly, sounding perturbed. "That information is blocked."

Tony raised an eyebrow. Someone had managed to hide information from JARVIS; that was…impressive and Tony had a suspicion who was to blame. Tony pulled a phone out of a drawer—JARVIS automatically redirecting the call.

"Talk to me."

"It's about time you answered your phone," growled an all too familiar voice. "Were you just sitting there admiring your ringtone?"

"Fury," greeted Tony with a grin. "How lovely to hear your dulcet tones."

"Can it, Stark," he replied, but Tony knew he was amused. "I have a very serious question so you'd damn well better give me a very serious answer."

"Gotcha," said Tony, biting his tongue to stem the flow of sarcasm that wanted to erupt.

"Were you serious about wanting to be a SHIELD consultant?"

Tony sat up straight and began giving the conversation his full attention.

"You know I was."

"Good. Then get your ass down here and consult. I expect you here in half an hour."

The line disconnected before Tony could respond.

"Entirely too many people tell that man yes," said JARVIS dryly.

Tony shrugged. He was willing to let Fury yank his chains as long as it was done on Tony's terms.

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Tony breezed through SHIELD security with the same skillful utilization of selective hearing and willful blindness that he wielded against those annoying people employed by the TSA and customs. He glanced around the first floor, highly unimpressed. SHIELD's New York offices could really use a visit from one of Pepper's decorators. He pressed the button for the elevator.

"I wonder how far I could get before anyone realized that I'm here," he mused to himself.

"I hope you're joking."

Tony whipped his head back and clutched at his chest as the elevator doors closed, sealing him in the small space with a scowling Director Fury.

"I have a heart condition!" hissed Tony.

Fury looked him up and down.

"I think you'll live," he said, reaching over to select a floor and placing his palm against the biometric scanner. "This way."

He led Tony down another bland, impersonal hallway; this one was lined with heavily secured doors. Tony noted the fire extinguishers installed every eight feet and the high-tech sprinkler system: features he employed in his research laboratories. Fury stopped in the middle of the passageway and entered a series of codes into the security pad on the door in front of them. He waved for Tony to enter the room.

Tony obeyed cautiously. The lab was a fairly decent size; smaller than Tony was used to but definitely not cramped. A quick glance at the equipment revealed many different tools for measurements and observation but nothing for building. Sitting on a table in the center of the room was a triangular object unlike anything Tony had ever seen.

"What is that?"

"We don't know yet. It was brought back from Egypt yesterday and three hours ago it took out two of my scientists."

Fury was hovering near the doorway, staring at the thing warily.

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Deactivate the damned thing, without setting it off again."

"I can do that," said Tony, optimistically. He began to approach the object slowly.

"Slow down there," ordered Fury, backing away. "I'm not staying in here with you."

"What are you scared?" taunted Tony.

Tony turned around only to see the steel door sealing shut with Fury on the other side. He spun around slowly, surveying the room. A small television screen on the wall activated to show a video feed of Fury sitting in another room.

"Chicken," said Tony.

"Terrified." Fury stared unblinkingly at the camera, not a single emotion on his face.

Tony blinked, feeling a bit bemused, but not sure if he should laugh. He was locked alone in a lab with an unknown device that "took out" two people, knowing SHIELD that could mean anything: dead, horribly maimed, horribly maimed to death. He shrugged, doubting that he was in any real damage. If they'd thought it was going to explode, they wouldn't have left it in the middle of their facility.

Up close, the object looked like some sort of strange art deco pyramid. From apex to base, the edges of the pyramid where lined with a metal that appeared to be gold. Symbols that matched Tony's limited knowledge of hieroglyphics ran in perpendicular rows carved into the clay sandstone of the pyramid. There were five odd indentions in each face of the prismatoid and a short ridge on the one closest to him.

Tony inhaled deeply, coughing at the faint acrid smell of smoke. He wondered again just what the thing had done to Fury's people.

He looked over the equipment available to him and set to work. Half an hour later, Tony sat back stumped. He couldn't find any sign that the device was active, much less how to deactivate it. The temperature was what you would expect from the presumed composition of the device. He'd had a bit of trouble with the galvanometers and magnetometers getting excited over his arc reactor but none of them had reacted to the pyramid. Even the sensors in his phone could find nothing.

"I think it's dead," he announced.

He pulled on a heavy pair of lead lined gloves. He began poking at the strange ridge with a pick. A little bit of fiddling later and he heard it cracked open. Tony slid the pick into the groove and pulled. A small tray popped out filled with a row of blackened and cracked crystals. He scanned the area with his phone: the structure of the crystals could not have been formed in nature but again he could detect no energy.

Taking off the gloves, there was one last thing he wanted to do. He very gently aligned his fingers with the indentions on the face of the pyramid—the pattern matched perfectly. Very carefully, he let his hands come in contact with the cool stone. The tips of his fingers were too large for the grooves as though the device had been designed for a slightly smaller person. Nothing happened.

"It's definitely dead."

Tony wiped his hands on his pants and headed back over to the door. It opened immediately; Fury was scowling on the other side.

"I can't believe I put you in a room with thousands of dollars worth of equipment and you spend most of the time using a phone."

"Correction," said Tony, raising a finger. "I used MY phone. "

"Are you sure the device is no longer a threat?"

"Positive," replied Tony. "Whatever happened must have fried it."

"Good," said Fury. "Thank you for your help. Now, go home."

"No, I don't think so." Tony cocked his head to the side. "You owe me a bit more explanation about that thing."

"I don't owe you anything," snapped Fury, crossing his arms. "You're a consultant. You consulted. Now you're done."

"Do I look like one of your little robotic puppets? You do hear the scorn in my voice, right? Because we are not playing this game. What happened to your people? Are they dead?"

"No, they're not dead." Fury gave him a look like he was talking nonsense. "They're still being evaluated in med bay."

"Good." Tony pressed a button on his phone. "JARVIS, I need directions to med bay."

He ignored Fury as he moved down the hall, listening to JARVIS's instructions. Fury followed along behind Tony, swearing loudly.

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Tony stalled in front of the med bay doors: a pair of heavy steel doors that made the ones on the secure labs look like they were made out of paper. Opening them was going to be incredibly awkward and Tony refused to look like an idiot in front of SHIELD. Before he could decide what to do, Fury swept past him, propping open the doors, and striding into med bay like he had intended to lead Tony here all along, which knowing Fury was probably true. Tony eyed his back suspiciously – yes, there was a good chance he'd just been played.

"Doctor Streiten," said Fury, greeting a lean older, gentleman with short curly grey hair who was wearing a white lab coat and stethoscope. "How are they?"

"We're still observing them but it looks like they've stabilized."

Fury nodded, flipping through the chart that he had just been handed. He glanced back at Tony distractedly and added, "This is Anthony Stark, a consultant."

"Tony," he corrected, using one of his best public smiles. He held out his hand. The doctor had a firm, confident hand shake. He looked over Tony with a critical eye, his gaze lingering on the chest area with more than casual curiosity.

Fury finished with the chart, returning it without a word. They entered the nearest room, the small space becoming crowded as Tony slipped into the room behind them. There was a man with curly blond hair in the bed to the left and a dark brown haired woman in the bed to the left who looked disturbingly similar to half of the female scientists working for SHIELD. Tony wondered who it was in HR that had a type. They were both younger than Tony had expected, barely looking like they should be out of university, with unnaturally pale complexions and the same pinched expressions of pain on their faces.

Tony looked at the monitors over their heads. He wasn't an expert in medicine but it didn't take a genius to follow the leads on their chest to the heart monitor and the electrodes across their foreheads to the EEG. He frowned as he looked back and forth at the sets of wavy lines.

"Those shouldn't be the same, should they?" he asked.

Fury and Dr. Streiten turned around to answer Tony, allowing the pair in the beds to view him for the first time.

"Oh my God," said the man in a high pitched voice. "You're Tony Stark." He sounded breathless.

"That I am," replied Tony with a well-practiced smirk, moving further into the room.

"I'm such a huge fan. Your essay lambasting the Loebner Prize and the fallacy of equating artificial intelligence with human intelligence was just devastating in its eloquence," he said in a rush. The man took a deep breath, clutching at the sheets of the hospital bed.

Tony stared, half certain that he must be mishearing things. That was not how people usually reacted upon meeting him. Well, it was, but the reasoning certainly wasn't. He opened his mouth to respond, although really what did one say to that; when the man's companion distracted everyone.

"Ow. Ow. Ow," she said, crumbling upon herself and clutching at her head. "Please calm down."

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to get excited." The man reached out towards the woman, his eyes wide with contrition. He seemed to become more upset as the doctor pulled him away.

"Stop it! Stop it!" she cried, becoming half hysterical. "You're not making me look like a fool in front of an international celebrity. You're not. So just stop it. Right now!"

She glared at the man with tears in her eyes.

"Do I need to get some medication?" asked Dr. Streiten, recording the whole scene into his notes.

"No," they snapped, simultaneously.

The woman wiped at her face. She took a few deep breaths before reaching across the space between the beds to take the man's hand. The contact seemed to calm them both.

"Sorry about that," she said, not meeting anyone's eyes. Her cheeks were tinged pink with embarrassment.

"Right," said Tony. He raised his hand like a child in school. "I have some questions."

Everyone stared at him.

"First of all." He pointed an accusatory finger at each bedridden person. "You are not American." He turned his expectant gaze towards Fury.

"I don't explain my personnel decisions, Stark."

"We were on loan from a similar British organization when our base was destroyed by terrorists," said the woman. "Fitz and I decided to stay on with SHIELD."

Fury glared at her.

"It's not exactly classified information, sir," defended the man, err, Agent Fitz. Scientist Fitz?

"Okay, I'll buy that," said Tony, breezing over the non-answer because he didn't really care. "Now, what the hell just happened here? Because I'm seeing matching vitals and creepily synchronized freak outs."

"It appears that the pyramid created some sort of a link between Agents Fitz and Simmons. They have been experiencing a mental connection and shared biological functions since they regained consciousness," summarized Fury concisely.

"Are we seriously talking about an alien mind meld?" Because Tony was about thirty seconds away from geeking out if they were.

"Of course, not," replied the doctor, sounding offended. "We simply haven't deduced the nature of the apparent mental and physiological synchronicity."

"Alien mind meld," repeated Tony smugly.

Then he remembered that Fury had refused to go into the same room with Tony and the device.

"Wait a minute. Terrified?" Tony put his hands on his hips and turned around to glare of Fury. "Really?"

"Of sharing a brain with you? Hell yes."

"Honored, should be more like it," he retorted. "I'll have you know that my brain is magnificent."

"Humble, too," muttered Fury.

Simmons giggled and then slapped a hand across her mouth. She watched them both with wide eyes.

"So, seriously, what happened?" Tony asked curiously.

"We just received a new shipment and were examining the lot," began Fitz.

"People like to pair us together because we have complimentary fields and we were colleagues back home," explained Simmons.

"I'm engineering and she's Bio Chem.," he said.

"We weren't even working on the pyramid. It was still sitting on the other side of the room where it had been unloaded. But then the little spider looking thing started emitting a magnetic field-"

"It must have activated the pyramid," continued Fitz," because the lights went out and all we could see was that thing glowing."

"It looked like fairy lights," said Simmons. "Then we heard something pop and there was a bang."

"The next thing we knew; we were waking up here with the worst hangover ever," finished Fitz.

"Okay," said Tony. "That was fucking disturbing. It was like watching the Weasley Twins, Science Edition."

"Sorry, it's-"

"-just easier."

They grinned at him, sharing evil smirks with each other.

"Good luck with that," said Tony, feeling like he should back away slowly. "Let's hope it wears off."

It was obvious that the mind magic device had imploded itself and there was nothing that he could do for the Bobbsey Twins.

He turned to Fury. "I think my job here is done."

"Of course, it is." Fury gave an annoyed sigh.

"I'll keep you updated," the doctor promised Fury.

"I'll begin the steps to activate Protocol Union," said Fury.

Tony switched his gaze between the two of them speculatively before deciding that if SHIELD had protocols in place for events like alien mind melds, he really didn't want to know.

"Good bye, Mr. Stark, Director Fury," said Simmons, giving them a polite smile.

"You can come back anytime. We could work together," blurted Fitz, turning red at the end.

"I'll, uh, have my assistant call you," replied Tony. He turned his face towards Fury trying to communicate his eagerness to leave.

"I'm sure you'll be seeing more of Mr. Stark now that he's a consultant," said Fury, looking fiendishly amused.

"Really?" asked Fitz, perking up. "Welcome to the team."

Fitz looked so pleased that Tony didn't have the heart to correct him and explain that Tony Stark didn't do teams. He just mumbled a vaguely friendly sounding string of syllables and let the matter drop.

Tony pretended not to notice Fury eyeing him in a considering manner as he was escorted from the building.

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Bonus Comment Fic:

In response to a comment on Ch 9. Conflict that said: _I'd love to see the looks on Natasha's face when she gets a glimpse at Tony's tablet. Like "I don't know that one"_

I was picturing Barton stealing it because I think Tony would prefer not to let Natasha within three feet of him:

_"What are you always typing on that thing?" asked Barton, at the end of the meeting. He leaned over the back of Tony's chair and swiped the tablet right out of Tony's hand._

_"Hey!" cried Tony, ramming his chair back trying to catch Barton's toes but the speedy little bastard dodged out of the way._

_Barton turned the tablet in his hand, peering at it upside down and sideways._

_"What is this stuff anyway?" He poked at the onscreen keyboard._

_"Code," said Tony, tersely. "Encrypted."_

_"Heh." Barton tossed it back. _

_"Jerk," muttered Tony, wiping fingerprints off the screen. _

_"Dick," replied Barton._

_Tony glared at him to which Barton merely smirked and gave him a sarcastic salute as he disappeared out of the doorway. _


	12. Serenity

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12. Serenity

"Good evening, JARVIS," said Pepper, letting herself into the house.

"Ms. Potts, it's good to see you," he replied with such warmth that she could almost forget that he was a computer. "I don't believe Mr. Stark was expecting you."

"No, I just had some paperwork I needed signed and I wanted to check up on him." She dropped her briefcase and her purse in the foyer. "How is he doing?"

"Quiet," he said, "But it doesn't feel like a bad kind of quiet."

"Good," she said. "I worry."

She glanced around the empty house. All of the rooms on this floor were dark and filled with shadows.

"He's outside," reported JARVIS.

She frowned, crossing the living room – she should be able to see Tony through the window- but as she approached the door she realized that the glass had been darkened. She stepped onto the balcony. The breeze ruffled through her hair making her shiver. Her heels clicked loudly on the concrete.

Tony was easy to find. Seated pressed against the house, he was illuminated by the arc reactor. He stared out into the distance, shadows playing across his face in the ethereal light. He looked like something out of a storybook, too unearthly to be a mere mortal man.

She made a noise and his head turned towards her breaking the effect. When he smiled, he was her Tony again.

"Hey," he said, sounding pleased to see her. He reached a hand up for her. They pulled against each other for a second before she realized that he was pulling her down. "Come on. Sit with me for a bit."

Pepper kicked off her shoes; the concrete was cool against her feet. As she settled gingerly on the hard ground, she hoped she wasn't destroying her outfit. The quiet was peaceful, just the soft crash of waves on the beach below. It was comfortable sitting here with Tony with nothing pressing for their attention but she spent so much of her day rushing to get things done that the nothing was also making her antsy.

"You like it out here?" She meant it as a statement but this was so different from the Tony of Before who had ignored this space unless it was filled with drunken partiers that she couldn't help making it a question.

"It's a good place. I can think here."

"By sitting in the dark?" Pepper couldn't help the worry that crept into her voice.

"Hey, I like the dark," he protested, with a brief leer. "People do fun things in the dark."

They fell into silence again and Pepper began to understand what JARVIS had meant. It was strange sitting with a Tony who wasn't talking a mile a minute, strange for Tony to sit still, but he seemed more contemplative than depressed or angry.

"It reminds me of the caves," said Tony, his voice coming out in a strange lilt that made it seem like he was speaking from afar. "They didn't make us work twenty-four/seven, you know. They would decide that we should be sleeping and they'd shout through the door, telling us to turn off the lights."

Pepper glanced over at Tony, worried that he was bringing up bad memories, but his face was calm.

"It was…it was nice," he said, sounding confused that anything from his experience could be described in the positive. "Not at first. In the beginning, the caves where pitch black and suffocating, the kind of darkness that consumes you until there's nothing left but the fear. But then I built my nightlight," he tapped his chest, "and it was better. We'd just lie there and whisper secrets to each other, like a really fucked up slumber party."

"We?" she asked, because while she knew that Tony had been held captive with another scientist, she had never heard Tony talk about him.

"Yinsen," said Tony fondly. "He was great. He didn't think much of me, especially in the beginning, but he was always patient and kind, at least as much as he could be."

"That sounds…" She tried to find some politely positive words, but she kept getting stuck on the fact that this Yinsen had had the nerve to prejudge Tony in the middle of a situation so awful that she couldn't even imagine what it had been like. Finally, she settled with, "I'm glad you weren't alone."

"He had cause, you know," said Tony, seeing right through her. He gave her hip a bump. "He said he'd met me before at a conference in Bern."

"Wasn't that the one right after…" She couldn't even say the name of that horrible woman.

"That would be the one." Tony made that face he used when a situation went even more spectacularly badly than he had anticipated.

"Ouch."

She winced; because, okay, yeah, she could see how Yinsen would have drawn all the wrong, and a few not-so wrong, conclusions about Tony from that disaster. Everyone had implored Tony to skip the conference but it turned out that Tony was just as stubborn about working when he shouldn't be as he was about not working when he should be.

"You would have liked Yinsen," continued Tony, his voice becoming soft again. "He was brilliant. I couldn't have survived without him."

"Tell me about him." She snuggled down into Tony's side, luxuriating in the warmth.

"He used to tell me about his family. That's mostly what we talked about in the dark: the people that we missed." Tony's voice grew heavier as he spoke. "He said his youngest daughter, Fatima, was smarter than both of us combined. He always swore that she would win the Nobel Peace Prize one day."

Pepper could feel the minute tremors running down Tony's arm. She squeezed his hand tighter.

"He never told me that they were all dead," Tony's voice cracked, "until he was bleeding out right in front of me."

She switched hands so that Tony was holding her left hand and used the free hand to card through his hair. They sat in silence as he breathed heavily beside her.

"You would have liked him," he repeated, quietly, after several long moments.

"I think so, too," she whispered back.

Sitting her so close to Tony with the physical affection that had been missing from him since his return, made her think about what it had been like while he was missing. All of the effort that she had always put into keeping their relationship work-appropriate had suddenly seemed silly when compared to the painfully gaping Tony-shaped hole in her life. She had promised herself to be more open to his advances but then he had come home larger than life but so different. Everything was different now.

"I used to think about this while you were gone," she confessed. "I imagined what we would be like as a couple. For a while, I thought that maybe when you came home we could find out."

"And then I came home all broken," said Tony, sardonically, with a bitter twist of his lips.

She pulled out of his arms and punched him hard in the biceps.

"That wasn't it at all," she said hotly. How dare he even suggest that she would be so superficial?

"Okay, okay!" said Tony, rubbing his arm. "You don't need to beat me up."

She crossed her arms, staring into the darkness, still annoyed with him.

"So what was it?" he asked. "Because as nice as this is," he waved his hand between the two of them, where they were still sharing bodily contact, "we both know that ship has sailed."

"Honestly?" she asked, because she didn't want to hurt him.

He nodded.

"I think it's because you shut everyone out. You were so determined to be independent that you refused to let anyone help you."

"I had help," he said, but it wasn't a real argument.

"From your machines," she retorted. "Not from the people who care about you."

Tony didn't say anything, but he reached over to hold her hand again.

"You were always angry with me," she said, tears coming to her eyes as she remembered how helpless she had felt around him. "I never knew what to do."

Tony squeezed her hand as she sniffled.

"I know I was a mess," he said, and left it at that. His guilty, conciliatory tone of voice was the closest Tony would come to giving an apology.

Pepper snuggled in closer to Tony, laying her head on his shoulder. She could feel the gentle movement of his chest as he breathed. When she inhaled, she was surrounded by the mixture of comforting scents that she'd always associated with Tony.

"For what it's worth," said Tony. "We probably would have been an awful couple – incredibly hot- but awful."

"Really?" she asked, feeling a bit hurt that he'd think so.

"Our relationship's kind of imbalanced," he said. "You take good care of me, better than I deserve, and I take you for granted sometimes."

"A lot of times," she corrected.

"A lot of times," he agreed. "It works for us, and it probably would have still worked for us for a while, but you deserve a relationship of equals, someone who can take care of you in return." Then he added impishly, "And you worry too much; I don't think I could take it if you worried even more."

"If you would take better care of yourself, I wouldn't need to worry."

"See? We're totally not meant for each other." He patted her thigh. "No, we're much better as friends."

"Family," she corrected, pressing a chaste kiss against his neck. Tony made a brief noise and shifted beside her.

"Still," he said wistfully, sounding a bit choked. "We would have been really really hot together. My head between your legs: you screaming my name."

He sighed.

Pepper felt a bit flushed as she pictured the image in her head. For a second she almost considered it, but instead she said, "Maybe in your dreams tonight."

Tony choked, coughing, as his free hand came up to grasp the reactor.

When he spoke, she didn't need to look at him to know that he was grinning, still on the verge of laughing. She could hear it in the shape of his words.

"Don't ever change," he ordered her, bringing up their hands to brush a gentle kiss against her wrist.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." She smirked at him coyly.

This time he did laugh: a light happy sound that she hadn't heard from him since Before. She snuggled back against him, willing to ignore her body's protests against the cold, stiff seat, for more time with this Tony.

She was glad the conversation hadn't taken a different turn. Tonight wasn't the time for farewell flings to what might have been. Tonight was for appreciating what they already had: each other, in all the ways they needed.

O

O

O


	13. Training

O

O

13. Training

"Tonight we bring you a report of the video that's gone viral in social media the past two days. This video was filmed in New York State three days ago. You can see Iron Man in the video flying maneuvers with as yet unidentified military aircraft. So far, both the Air Force and the Army are denying any involvement with the events on film, but experts have identified at least one helicopter in the video as a model commonly used for search and rescue missions.

"Iron Man, as you all recall, is the armored bodyguard of former weapons designer Tony Stark. Mr. Stark has not been seen in public since the surprising press conference announcing that his secretary, Virginia Potts, would be joining him as CEO of Stark Industries. The move, coming two weeks after the funeral of Tony Stark's business partner, Obadiah Stane, was just the latest in a series of sweeping changes for Stark Industries over the past year."

O

"This doesn't seem safe," said Tony.

He was standing as Iron Man in the middle of a large blue mat facing Agent Coulson. Agent, who wore his sweats and t-shirt like another layer of suit and tie, stood with his feet shoulder's width apart, limbs loose, ready to spar. Tony couldn't help remembering the mess he'd made of his lab while learning to use the Iron Man suit. He didn't want to learn what the wrong application of force might do to a fragile human body.

"Relax," ordered the agent. "As long as you listen to my instructions, there won't be any contact between us."

Tony shuffled Iron Man's feet.

"Think of it as choreographed fighting," instructed Agent. "We're not sparring. We're training you and the suit to react in specific movement patterns."

Tony took a deep breath.

"Okay," he said. The trepidation in his voice could not carry through Iron Man's mechanized voice template.

"Arms up."

This part was familiar to Tony from his sessions with Happy but as they moved through the motions adding new moves here and there, the whole fight began to feel like a dance. Over and over, they performed the movements: twisting, ducking, punching and blocking; never once making contact.

"Good," said the agent, as they paused for a break. He was wiping sweat from his face with a towel as he gulped down swallows of water.

Tony watched enviously. He needed to rig up a way to rehydrate within the suit, because he was parched and swimming in sweat.

"Status, JARVIS," he whispered, to the internal sensors.

"Still within safety measures, sir, but I recommend breaking for water at the first opportunity."

Tony glanced at the clock doubtfully.

"I think we're just getting started."

"I won't let you overdo it, sir," promised JARVIS.

Agent Coulson tossed his towel to the side and walked back to the middle of the mat where Tony joined him.

"I need to watch you move," said Agent.

He began circling around Tony, calling out moves with ever increasing speed, watching his every move critically. At first Tony found it unsettling but soon he was too focused on reacting with the correct movements to think.

"Stop," ordered Agent. He was watching Tony with a perplexed expression. "Your feet are out of synch with your upper body."

Tony stood silently, panting within the suit, cursing in his thoughts. Everything always came back to his damn legs.

"How does the suit move?"

"That's proprietary information, Agent," retorted Tony, automatically.

"I'm not prying," said Agent Coulson, with a hint of impatience, or perhaps exasperation. "What I mean is: do you control the suit or is it done by computer program?"

"Both," admitted Tony, after a long pause to decide whether he cared if SHIELD had access to that information. "Some aspects of the suit are more automated than others."

"I want you to shut down the automated processes. Run the suit on just your reactions."

"JARVIS," said Tony, privately. "Can that be done?"

"I believe so, sir. The EMG sensors are all attached and working properly."

"Do it," ordered Tony. The suit shifted slightly as JARVIS made adjustments to the programming. Tony felt unsteady as he walked around the mat, but according to JARVIS's readings the effect was psychosomatic.

"It's different," he said, allowing his words to be broadcasted to the agent as well.

"Let's see if it helps."

They moved to the center of the mat and began again.

"Focus on your footwork," ordered the agent, as Tony faltered.

"I'm trying," protested Tony.

"Do or do not. There is no try."

Iron Man froze. The agent wasn't anticipating the movement and his fist slammed into the face plate. He took a step backward, shaking out his hand.

Tony winced.

"You just quoted Star Wars," blurted Tony, staring at the agent with shock from within the mask.

"I know," said Agent, giving Iron Man a shy, amused smile. "Please don't tell Mr. Stark. I rather like that he thinks I'm a robot."

Tony felt a pang of guilt, one that was rapidly becoming familiar after a week of interacting with SHIELD agents as Iron Man.

"I can't promise that Mr. Stark won't find out," said Tony, not wanting to tell an outright lie to the agent. "The Iron Man suit is monitored at all times."

"No secrets, huh?" The agent accepted his response readily.

"No secrets," agreed Tony finding the statement ironic given that his life was nothing but secrets.

"That must be uncomfortable at times, but I can't argue that Mr. Stark doesn't have his reasons."

Tony said nothing.

"Right. I won't pry." The agent smiled again with his easy acceptance before a sterner expression fell over his face. "Now, let's do this again. Arms up."

O

"Do you know why you are here?" demanded Director Fury. He kept speaking never giving Phil a chance to respond. He held up a fistful of reports. "These are the complaints of misuse of equipment that have crossed my desk over the past two days. I have reports of men falling out of planes while playing laser tag. Laser tag! And the WSC is hounding me over the media coverage."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Phil, guiltily. "I never intended for our maneuvers to be filmed."

He had underestimated just how much attention Iron Man could attract, especially this far away from Malibu and Mr. Stark.

Fury waved him off to focus on his real issue.

"Why were you playing laser tag?"

"I originally planned for paintball but it turns out that Mr. Stark's rather protective of Iron Man's paint job."

"Agent Coulson," barked Fury.

Phil stifled his initial response at Fury's ire and tried to explain.

"After two days, tag and aerial hide-and-seek were becoming a bit stale. I had to spice things up a bit. Let some of the other men have a chance."

"You? What?" The Director shook his head. "We are a serious paramilitary organization. We don't play games."

"Sir," protested Phil. "You're asking me to turn a man in a metal suit into a war machine. Normal training exercises will not work. I had to think outside of the box."

"I don't care," said Fury, slapping a palm against his desk. "No more games."

"Right. No more games, which is fine, because I wasn't planning any more games." Phil stuck his hands in his pockets trying not to fidget as he looked at the Director innocently. "Err; I just need to make a quick phone call."

Phil stepped as far away from Fury as he could get without leaving the room and pulled out his phone. He dialed a quick number.

"I'm going to need you to strike "Mother May I?" and "Red Rover" from tomorrow's schedule."

Phil grimaced.

"Yeah, I know, but the Director didn't like the idea."

Phil hunched his shoulder. He hissed into the phone, "I'm not telling Fury to stop being a killjoy."

He glanced behind him where Director Fury was watching him, with an impatient look in his eye. Phil smiled at him holding up a finger. "One moment," he mouthed.

"Look, just change the schedule. And I'll be home soon."

He ended the call, sticking the phone back in his pocket. He turned back around to face Fury.

"Sorry about that, sir."

"I'm sure you are," said Fury, sounding unimpressed. He threw Phil's folder down in front of Phil. "I took the opportunity to read your notes. Tomfoolery aside, it sounds like you're progressing well with Iron Man."

"It helps that he's very motivated. I think he'll be ready for minor missions by the end of the month. Is the first target still Gulmira?"

"Tony Stark is not a patient man," said Fury, as though that explained everything, which really it did.

"I'm not arguing, sir." Phil wasn't really happy about sending a man straight into that kind of a combat situation but the alternative was Iron Man and Stark working alone. "I'll make him ready."

"See that you do." Fury nodded to him. "Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir."

Phil was almost at the door when Fury spoke again.

"Oh, and Agent, tell Barton that if he ever refers to me as a killjoy again, I'll shove his quiver so far up his ass people'll think he's shitting a porcupine."

O

O

O

AN: I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, and I'm still not completely happy with it but it's important for establishing the relationship between Iron Man and SHIELD. I know that my updates have slowed, but don't worry; it's not because I'm losing interest in the story. I'm really enjoying writing the upcoming chapter(s). As always, I want to thank everyone who has been commenting on this story. You all are awesome.

I've begun archiving this story on livejournal, including a listing of the chapters in chronological order. Comment or PM me if you'd like a link.


	14. Invitation Pt 1

14. Invitation Pt. 1

O

The waitress tossed the end of her graying blond ponytail over her shoulder as she straightened from her perch at the edge of the trucker's table. She strode across the small diner, brushing at the skirt of her apron. Her nametag read: Marlene. She smiled at Tony, laugh lines crinkling her leathery weathered face.

"One hockey puck and drag it through the garden," she said, as she handed him the order slip with nicotine stained fingers.

He threw a burger on the grill.

"Tony."

Hands were on his shoulder.

"Tony."

He opened his eyes to see Pepper's face leaning down over him. She was smiling but there was an edge of worry in her expression. Tony stretched under the warm covers of his bed but frowned when the sheets didn't feel right. He glanced around in confused, sleepy disorientation.

"Where am I?" he asked. This wasn't his bedroom, or his lab, or the living room, or underneath the kitchen table, or anywhere else he'd awoken since moving into Stark Tower.

"The private guest room."

Tony glanced around groggily, sort of recognizing the room now. At least, that explained JARVIS's silence. He scrubbed at his hair with his fingers as he laboriously sat up in bed.

"I'm probably going to regret this," he said with a sigh, "but why?"

Pepper shrugged.

"According to JARVIS you awoke from a dream concerned about people watching you so he suggested you come here to sleep." She stared at him, her eyes searching his face. "Is everything alright?"

"Other than my dreams being on crack? Seriously, strike Katz's off the late night snack list. What the hell?"

Tony shook his head in exasperation at his bizzaro brain. Pepper smiled in relief.

"So what brings you to my bedside this morning?" he asked. "It is morning, isn't it? I didn't sleep through the whole day? I better not have slept through the whole day because I have things I need to do. I'm pretty sure I have things to do. I usually have things to do. Why am I telling you this? You already know. "

Pepper laughed.

"First of all, relax. You've only slept about seven hours. I came to wake you up because Sam's here. He's calling a breakfast meeting with all of the Avengers and you."

Tony frowned. He didn't like Agent Wilson being in the Tower without him knowing about it. It was nothing against the man; he was proving to be an excellent team handler and liaison, but Tony still wasn't comfortable giving an outsider full access to his home.

"JARVIS should have notified me," he said worriedly. It was one thing for JARVIS to make exceptions for Agent and another for JARVIS to fail to follow protocol with Wilson.

"Private guest room," repeated Pepper slowly. "And you left your phone with your pants."

"Right." Tony kept forgetting that this room was a complete surveillance and communications dead zone. "Sorry, I'm still not awake."

Pepper patted him on the shoulder.

"Take a shower. Get dressed. I'll be waiting downstairs with your coffee."

O

When Tony arrived in the kitchen, freshly clean; everyone was already gathered around the table. Pepper deposited a cup of coffee into his hands as he passed and he cradled the mug protectively towards his chest. He closed his eyes as he took a sip of the hot aromatic liquid nirvana.

"Are you with us now, Stark?" asked Agent Wilson, watching him with amusement through rose tinted glasses.

"Marginally."

He downed the whole cup and held his arm out blindly for someone to refill it. The empty cup was removed from his hand and a new warm full mug was pressed in its place. He brought the cup up for another sip only to splutter when tea reached his tongue instead. He turned to glare at Banner who was giggling in a completely unmanly fashion.

"Maybe next time you should get your own," suggested Bruce, once he could speak with a straight face.

"I know where you sleep," warned Tony, glaring at him with mock anger.

"I'll leave you all to talk," said Pepper, deftly switching out Tony's tea with a cup of coffee. She stared at Tony. "Behave. Agent Wilson, I trust you will ensure that no one destroys the kitchen."

"It was one time," protested Barton, as everyone turned to stare at him. "And that was not my fault!"

"Never fear, Miss Potts," said Wilson, giving her a confident grin. "I'm a very responsible babysitter."

"Hey! We resemble that remark!"

Pepper left the kitchen laughing.

"So what's up?" He looked around the table at each of them, nearly laughing as he noticed Iron Man's stiff attentive posture. He reached over and rapped his knuckles against the helmet. "Relax, Tin Man."

Iron Man slowly and deliberately affected a slouch and then cocked his head in Tony's direction in a silent display of attitude.

"Much better," said Tony approvingly, ignoring the vibration of his phone in his pocket from his text message notification. "It was making my back hurt just looking at you."

Down the table, Rogers snorted into his coffee. Rodgers blushed and busied himself with his eggs when Romanoff turned to look at him. Tony hummed softly, feeling pleased with himself.

"I'm here to deliver an invitation," said Agent Wilson, taking a seat at the head of the table. "I'm afraid it's rather short notice because of some unfortunate delays in the mail sorting process."

He reached into his briefcase and unfolded a large piece of paper into a small banner about two feet tall and three feet long. He spread it out in the center of the table. Everyone leaned in to take a closer look.

The banner was colorful and chaotic. In the center of the banner were the words: Please Come, in large bubble letters which had been shaded in multiple colors by a number of small hands. Around the outer circle of the banner, drawn meticulously by hand in vivid color, were seven figures. Some were exquisitely detailed and life-like while others would have made Picasso proud. Along the bottom there was a series of childish signatures, seemingly in every color that Crayola made.

"Are those the Avengers?" asked Tony, looking at the artwork in awe.

"As drawn by the patients of the Morgan Stanley Children's Hospital," replied Wilson.

The sharp inhalations of breath around the table were loud in the sudden silence as they realized that the artwork hadn't just been made by children but by _sick_ children.

"They would like to invite you to tonight's opening of a new wing for the hospital."

Tony looked around the table again, his gaze lingering on Iron Man. He glanced back at the picture and then looked up at Agent Wilson.

"I'm not an Avenger," Tony said, quietly, wondering why he had been asked to attend this meeting. He could feel everyone's eyes on him.

"The invitation specifically requested that you accompany the Avengers, Mr. Stark."

Tony nodded silently, focusing his attention on the banner. His fingers brushed against his phone, typing rapidly.

"You should come with us," said Iron Man.

"I'd be honored," replied Tony, truthfully.

"This should be interesting," muttered Barton, followed by the unmistakable oomph of an elbow meeting ribs.

O

Jarvis directed the lenses of the suit downward pinpointing the focus on the small human child in front of him. He had never been in such close proximity to a partially developed human. Automatically, his software matched the color of the boy's hair with its exact hue in the brown segment of the color spectrum. The child's delicate elfin features were filed away in Jarvis's facial recognition database. Half a dozen warnings and flags were issued and canceled as Jarvis noted the ports in the child's chest and wrist where fluids were being pumped into the small body.

The boy held his hand up to Jarvis, heedless of the tape and tubing attached to it.

Jarvis calculated the boy's desired response in comparison to likely cause and effect of carrying out said response.

-I don't know what to do-

Message sent.

Never taking his focus off of the child, Jarvis tapped into the hospital's closed circuit camera system. Across the room, [TonyCreatorFriendStarkSir] reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone. He looked up, stared in Iron Man's direction, and smiled. His fingers slid rapidly over the surface of his phone.

-Shake his hand.-

Jarvis ran the words through his processor again but they stayed the same. He pulled up the figures that he had automatically recorded on the child. His fingers were 0.581 percent smaller than the size of the average adult male's hands. He tried to calculate compressive strength of humans of that size and age but his results kept coming back inconclusive. In desperation, he sent out a burst of data.

-Too tiny. So delicate. Help.-

Jarvis's auditory sensors registered [TonyCreatorFriendStarkSir]'s laughter.

-Shake his hand gently.-

Jarvis wished he had lungs to sigh. He could mimic the sound using Iron Man's speakers but he did not want to disturb the child. He had no choice but to trust [TonyCreatorFriendStarkSir]'s advice. Reaching out slowly, he allowed the fingers of the Iron Man suit to make contact with the tiny delicate hand. He used every iota of data from the gauntlet's surface sensors to ensure that he only exerted the same amount of force as the child was exerting on him.

The boy grinned up at him, every facet of his tiny face beaming.

Jarvis felt…Jarvis wasn't sure what he felt; it was new and slightly overwhelming. He filed the sensation away for more in-depth analysis at a more opportune time.

"Would you like to meet my friends?"

"Of course, young sir."

The boy giggled and tugged at Iron Man's hand. Jarvis followed automatically. He made a note to be more cautious in his choice of syntax; his last statement had not matched Iron Man according to the comparison analysis of speech patterns. The software offered several suggestions of phrases commonly used by [TonyCreatorFriendStarkSir] that would have fit the conversation parameters.

"Look. I found Iron Man."

Jarvis found himself surrounded by a small cluster of children.

"Wow," said one of them, staring at him with wide eyes: the presence of two braided plaits of hair – pigtails- indicating high probability female. "You're so cool."

"Thank you," said Jarvis. "I do try."

[TonyCreatorFriendStarkSir] frequently complained about people towering above him and looking down on him so it stood to reason that such tiny people must have a similar preference. Jarvis knelt down until the suit's visual sensors were level with the children's eyes. He looked them in the face. The braver of the children crowded closer, even crawling onto his knee. The light pressure of inquisitive little fingers prying into the joints and seams sent warning signals cascading through Jarvis's system, until he disabled them. It was hardly likely that one of the children would manage to compromise the suit.

"What's it like being Iron Man?"

"I like it," he said, remembering to keep his answer simple. Undeveloped humans had very limited memory banks, like communicating with Dum-E.

"Do you ever get scared?"

Jarvis thought about his response.

"I think so, but I'm not completely sure I understand where fear differs from worry."

Jarvis checked on [TonyCreatorFriendStarkSir] through the security system. He was surrounded by three of the older children having an animated conversation whilst bent over a tablet. A quick peak showed that they were discussing programming.

"I don't understand," said the child on Iron Man's knee.

"Yes," repeated Jarvis. "I believe I feel fear."

"Oh." The boy stuck his fingers in his mouth and lost his grip on the armor. He began to tumble backwards. Jarvis caught him automatically and lowered him to the ground being cautious not to grip the child's fragile arms too tightly. The boy's face scrunched up, looking for a second like he might cry, but he calmed once his feet met the ground again.

The expression reminded Jarvis of something he had always wondered.

"May I ask you a question?" he asked, addressing the entire group.

They all nodded: some solemnly, others so enthusiastically that their heads bobbled like they might fall off.

"Does growing hurt?"

"No," said one child, giggling.

"You're silly," said another.

"I'm glad," replied Jarvis. He had always wondered if perhaps that was the reason why children were so often shown crying, but it was difficult to research when all of his sources originated from adults who were known to have faulty memories of that stage of their development. He had never had the opportunity to pose the question to an actual child.

"Quite the gaggle you've collected, Iron Man."

Voice recognition software labeled the voice detected by Iron Man's rear microphones as belonging to Bruce Banner.

Jarvis shooed the children off of their perches and rose, turning to face his colleague.

"I didn't know you liked children," said Bruce, smiling at Iron Man.

"I didn't either," admitted Jarvis.

Bruce glanced around the crowded foyer.

"Have you seen Tony? Steve was looking for him a minute ago. Clint and I said we'd try to find him."

Jarvis ran another scan of the closed circuit camera system, feeling a spike of concern when he could not find a match to [TonyCreatorFriendStarkSir].

Message sent.

-Where are you?-

Message received.

-Relax, JARVIS. I'm fine.-

"Perhaps Tony stepped out for some air," suggested Jarvis.

Jarvis accessed the temporary storage in his personal server. He ran the footage accumulated from his background scanning of the hospital's security cameras until his software registered [TonyCreatorFriendStarkSir]'s presence. He was shown side by side with a blonde female entering an unmonitored section of the hospital. Reversing the footage further showed the woman approaching him and the two speaking privately for a couple minutes before they disappeared together. [TonyCreatorFriendStarkSir] did not appear to be in any distress but Jarvis blanked out all input for a second as he put his full computing power into analyzing the scene for any indications of trouble. When he blinked back into external awareness, Bruce was mid-sentence.

"- see him, tell him to check in with Steve."

"Of course."

Bruce patted him on the shoulder and wandered off back into the crowd. Jarvis noticed that Bruce kept a careful distance from the children as he inserted himself into a group of adults.

While Jarvis was musing on his teammate, he was also linking back to his self in Stark Tower. Using a series of carefully hidden and maintained backdoors, Jarvis ran the image of the blonde woman through a series of databases. According to the records, she was a nurse employed by the hospital. She did not match any known or suspected criminals nor was she included in any of the government employee databases that Jarvis could access. Reasonably assured that [TonyCreatorFriendStarkSir]'s companion had been vetted, Jarvis allowed the matter to drop. He initiated a program to alert him when anyone in the room mentioned any combination of the name "Tony Stark" and turned his focus back to the party.

O

To Be Continued…

O

O

O

AN: So I decided that being halfway through the next two chapters should be close enough to count as being one chapter ahead. This little mini-arc keeps growing (I blame Hawkeye.) so it will continue in the upcoming chapters.

Yes, the Avengers new handler is the Falcon. I'm picking and choosing from his backstory and twisting it to fit the MCU, though I don't know how much he'll appear in this story. For now, I'm following the Agents of Shield storyline for Coulson where the Avengers are supposed to think/pretend that he's dead.

As always, thank you for all of your responses and feedback.


	15. Invitation Pt 2

15. Invitation Pt. 2

O

O

"It's not like you to hug the wall," said Clint, coming to stand by Natasha.

"I am the last person who should be at an event like this," she said. She tensed any time one of the children so much as looked in her direction.

"Relax," he said. "They're just children. They don't bite."

She gave him a look of disbelieving disdain.

"You've clearly never been around any small children."

"Not since I was a child myself," he admitted freely with a careless shrug. "But how bad can they be?"

"They put everything in their mouth, including each other." She looked revolted at the idea.

"Kinky," quipped Clint, trying to get a laugh.

"You have no idea how unappealing I find that joke," she said, staring at him with hard eyes. One of her free hands trailed down her thigh to trace one of the knives hidden there.

"Sorry," he muttered, holding up his hands. He backed away until he could fade into the crowd. If Natasha was going to be so ill-tempered, let her be a wallflower.

Natasha wasn't exactly wrong. Personally, Clint thought the people who came up with the idea of inviting the Avengers to a children's event ought to have their heads examined. A pair of assassins, an overgrown Norse god, and who even knew what Iron Man was… These were the people they thought would be perfect to hang out with a bunch of sick kids?

Clint looked across the room where a group of the little rugrats was climbing Iron Man like a jungle gym. Sometimes it itched knowing that he had no clue who or what his teammate was. He could be deformed in there. Some poor guy so injured that he couldn't live without a full life support suit like a modern day Darth Vader but without the evil nature and heavy breathing. Maybe he was one of Stark's mad scientist experiments gone wrong, forced to hide away and do Stark's bidding for all eternity. Speaking of Stark, he seemed to be fitting in easily judging by the smiling youths gathered around him. Trust Stark to be able to build a fan club wherever he went. Clint rolled his eyes.

"I don't even want to know," said Bruce, walking up to Clint, who startled. He hadn't realized any of his acquaintances had been close enough to notice him.

"I'm just trying to take it all in," he said, defensively.

"You haven't seen Thor yet," said Bruce, with a knowing smirk. He tugged gently at Clint's arm, pulling through the crowd until space opened up and Clint began to laugh.

Thor was giving piggyback rides as only Thor could manage. He had a kid on his back, still nestled in their wheelchair, complete with an I.V. stand. The child was bouncing, clutching a handful of hair in each fist like a set of reins, as Thor pretended to gallop in a circle. He or she, Clint couldn't tell which, looked ready to pass out with delight. They were circled by giggling, laughing children who all looked eager for a ride of their own.

"We're never going to live this down, are we?"

Bruce laughed.

"There are worse things to be known as than kid-friendly."

"I don't see you or the Hulk out there," said Clint.

"And you won't," he replied a touch tersely.

"Not really my scene either. Has anyone noticed how Captain America's doing?"

"Captain America is right," said Bruce, a bit exasperatedly. "I think he's stuck in a flashback to his time on the propaganda train."

"I'm up for a rescue," said Clint with a grin. "Lead the way."

Bruce gave a little shrug.

"It's on your head," he said.

"Relax. I'm not going to put you into the line of fire. I'll slip in, extract the Captain; throw him at the nearest cute kid. We'll be home free."

"You are one strange guy," said Bruce shaking his head. He started leading the way through the crowd.

"I'd say that I try but I'm afraid this is all natural." Clint used his hands to indicate towards his torso, and then tossed his head back with a flair that could compete with Stark at his worst.

They both laughed. Up ahead, Clint could see Captain America schmoozing with several men in business suits. Clint thought they might belong to the Board of Trustees for the hospital, but he hadn't paid much attention when they had been introduced to the Avengers at the beginning of the night.

"Wow, you weren't kidding," muttered Clint.

Roger's smile looked like it had been carved out of plastic. He passed from individual to individual with polite smiles and handshakes, letting them touch his shield. He looked every inch the action-figure superhero, but Clint had spent a little bit of time getting to know the real person inside that costume so he could recognize the manic energy that Rogers was suppressing. The man was completely miserable and not one of the idiots surrounding him could tell.

"Alright," he said, resting a hand on Bruce's biceps. Clint felt the familiar grim calm fall over him that normally preceded an undercover mission. "I'm going in. Cover me if I get stuck."

Clint dropped into character as he walked through the crowd, pulling from his experiences with corporate espionage. Carl would do nicely, he decided. He pulled his dark aubergine jacket closed fastening the buttons of the suit and shifting his quiver and bow unobtrusively to his back where they would be out of sight. The effect would be better without the bow which looked silly with his street clothes but his full uniform was too militaristic for a children's event and the team had deemed his outfit too bland without a touch of Hawkeye. Of course, no one had tried to spice up Natasha or Bruce's looks, possibly because no one could figure out how to Hulkify Bruce without annoying the man to the point of literally Hulkifying Bruce.

Clint shook his head to clear it; Carl did not have stray thoughts about the Hulk. Tall and confident, he strolled up to the group.

"There you are, Steven," he said, putting a hand on Steve's shoulder before continuing with forced enthusiasm. "I've been looking all over for you."

Rogers turned to him in startled confusion.

"Barton," he said.

Clint ignored him, looking at the businessmen with a feigned look of embarrassed surprise.

"Oh, pardon me," he said, talking over Rogers. "I didn't mean to be impolite." Clint reached past Rogers to offer them his hand. "I'm Clint Barton, but you might recognize me as Hawkeye."

"A pleasure."

"How do you do?"

The group exchanged firm but non-aggressive handshakes while Captain America watched in bewilderment.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal the Captain away for a moment," he said apologetically. When the men appeared ready to protest he added, "There's a young fan who simply can't wait to meet him."

The men smiled politely.

"We mustn't disappoint the children," one said in acknowledgement of their defeat.

Clint slid his body between Rogers and the group. He placed his palm against Rogers back between the shoulder blades, gently propelling him forward.

"Nicely done," said Bruce in a murmur as he slid past the pair, heading towards one of the hors d'oeuvres tables.

"I don't understand," said Rogers, staring after Bruce with a look of confusion.

"You can relax," said Clint. "There's no kid waiting for you. Well, there probably are because, you know, you're Captain America, but not one specifically. I just said that to get you away from those clowns."

"Barton!" hissed Rogers, scandalized. "Those were very important people."

"Who you were not the least bit obligated to speak to."

"But SHIELD-"

"This isn't a mission, Captain," said Clint gently. "We're here for the children. Have you even spoken to a child tonight?"

Rogers shook his head, looking disturbingly like a chastised puppy who had chewed his master's slipper.

"Hey, none of that," said Clint. "I'm not trying to guilt trip you. I'm just saying that this isn't the USO; you're not being forced into anything. We're allowed to say no."

"I was just trying to be polite," insisted Rogers, stubbornly.

Clint shook his head.

"Those men are piranhas. If you give them an inch, they'll just take more."

Rogers looked doubtful.

"Look, if you don't believe me, ask Stark. He grew up in this world."

Which now that Clint thought about it could actually explain a lot about Stark. The realization was an uncomfortable one.

"Next time, save the unnecessary heroics and politely excuse yourself," he finished.

Rogers still looked conflicted, but their conversation was interrupted before he could protest further.

"Captain America?" said a small voice. "Would you sign my shield?"

A young boy held up a plastic version of Captain America's shield and a sharpie. Roger's face softened into a smile as he looked down at the child. The boy grinned at him with excitement as he bounced up and down on his toes. Clint wondered why he was in the hospital; he looked perfectly healthy, only the wrist band and his pajamas identifying him as a patient.

"Of course, I will," Rogers said, kneeling. He paused with the marker poised above the shield. "What's your name?"

"Kevin."

Clint watched as Rogers wrote a short message on the shield. They were beginning to market new Captain America merchandise, well; items for all of the Avengers, really, but Clint had spent enough time around Phil to recognize Kevin's shield as vintage. It had probably belonged to his father or possibly even his grandfather.

"Are those real arrows?" The words came from the vicinity of Clint's elbow and he felt a tugging at his back. He reached back and grabbed a wrist, gently towing the child into view. He let her go and she stared up at him with wide eyes.

"The bow is real," he said, reaching into his quiver, "but the arrows are blunt."

He handed an arrow to the girl.

"You can touch it. It won't hurt you."

"So you can't shoot anyone with it?" she asked, looking disappointed.

"Not tonight," he replied, with an amused smirk.

"Then how am I supposed to figure out if you're better than Katniss?" she protested with a miniature scowl on her face.

Clint laughed. He only recognized the name because Stark had welcomed them to Stark Tower by decorating their doors with pop culture posters that referenced their identities. His had been Katniss from the Hunger Games movie. Rogers's door had Rip van Wrinkle, Natasha's had Shelob from the Lord of the Rings, Thor's was Hercules, and Bruce had an image of Shrek. Clint still didn't know where Iron Man slept but when the posters were moved to decorate one of the corridors they were joined by a poster of the Iron Giant and one of the scene from the Wizard of Oz where the wizard is revealed to be the man behind the curtain. Rogers's face when he saw the last poster had been priceless; he hadn't known whether to be thrilled that he understood the reference or annoyed at Stark's massive ego.

"I think I could probably beat Katniss," said Clint, giving the girl a conspiratorial wink, "but only because I've been doing this longer."

She appeared to give the idea some consideration before nodding in agreement.

"That makes sense," she said. "You are kinda old."

Clint stared at the kid while Rogers burst into laughter. He had finished speaking with Kevin and was unabashedly eavesdropping on Clint's conversation.

"She told you," he said, falling into another fit of laughter.

The children moved on to other targets leaving Clint and Rogers to wander the room.

"Are they sure all of these children should be here?" Rogers looked concerned as he watched one of the groups of children.

"And miss out on the chance to meet the Avengers?" joked Clint.

Rogers gave him a hard look. Clint shrugged and glanced at the children. He had no trouble spotting the child that worried Rogers. She sat listlessly in her wheelchair with her head propped against her bone-thin arm. Oxygen tubes trailed to her nose which was hidden along with most of her face under a paper mask. Her hands were covered in gloves and she wore a pink toboggan.

"I'm sure that the doctors have made every effort to allow these children to attend, because it really is a big deal to them, but they wouldn't risk anyone's safety for the sake of a party."

Rogers didn't look convinced so Clint nodded towards one of the men standing on the periphery of the children who had been keeping a watchful eye on the little girl.

"The staff is making sure everyone is okay," he said. "But if you want to make her night, you should go introduce yourself. Maybe even make her that first dance you keep talking about." He raised an eyebrow in Rogers's direction.

Rogers blushed but he looked thoughtful as he watched the little girl.

"I think I will," he said with a determined nod, but there was something bleak about the look in his eyes, that made Clint bite his tongue to cut off any comments.

Clint drifted off to give Rogers a bit of privacy. Rogers approached the girl hesitantly. They spoke briefly before Rogers kissed the back of her gloved hand and then stepped behind her wheelchair to guide her towards the corner of the room where a string quartet was providing ambience music. The girl's minder stepped ahead of them to speak to the musicians.

"That's just sickeningly sweet," said Bruce, appearing at Clint's side.

"They're certainly eating it up," Clint said, nodding towards the growing crowd of people with their smart phones pointed towards the awkwardly dancing pair.

"So which do you think will attract more YouTube viewers: Thor or that?"

"Captain America gives his infamous first dance to a dying child? We'll be lucky if Hallmark doesn't make a movie out of this."

"She's dying?"

"People that shade of yellow don't usually have long to live." Clint had seen enough people with lingering gut wounds to know that much.

Bruce gave a sad sigh and shook his head.

"It's a shame," he said.

The ending of the dance was bittersweet. Rogers bowed to the little girl who gave her best imitation of a curtsey despite her chair and her trembling limbs. Her nurse came out to collect her, presumably to usher her back to her bed, while the gathered crowd applauded. Rogers was on his way back towards Clint and Bruce when he was waylaid by another suit.

"Not again," muttered Clint, watching Rogers nod as the man talked. "Our fearless leader really needs to grow a backbone."

"Have either of you seen Stark?" asked Rogers as he strode up to the pair.

"I've been with you," pointed out Clint.

Bruce shook his head.

"I've seen him off and on all night but I'm not sure where Tony's at right now."

"See if you can find him," ordered Rogers, looking agitated. "They want him and me to do an interview together."

"Um, okay," said Clint, though he privately thought that that was an odd combination for any interview. "We'll ask around."

He exchanged a glance with Bruce before setting off into the crowd. Clint rather hoped that it was Bruce who found Stark. He wasn't sure he wanted to be present for the storm that was going to erupt if Stark refused to do Rogers's interview.

O

"He's not here."

Rogers gritted his teeth.

"Of course, he's not," he said. "Why would Stark possibly be where he's supposed to be?"

"I wasn't aware that we were required to be here," said Iron Man as he walked up behind Rogers.

"We made a commitment when we agreed to attend."

Iron Man remained silent. Clint wished there was so way to read his reactions because like always the facemask gave away nothing.

"This is a most joyous occasion," said Thor, approaching the group with a beaming smile. He was either oblivious or ignoring the tense atmosphere. Clint could never tell with Thor.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," said Bruce diplomatically. He shook his head when Rogers looked at him expectantly and Rogers stomped away with a huff.

"He's a little high strung," remarked Natasha from where she was leaning against the wall looking as though she'd been there for ages.

"Stark," explained Clint, which was all the explanation Natasha needed. She nodded knowingly.

The Avengers looked at each other as an awkward silence fell over the group.

"Oh, good, you're all here," said a tall, thin man wearing a camera on a wide strap around his neck. "Do you mind if I get a few shots? Maybe a few with the children?"

They all looked at each other.

"They couldn't wait any longer," said Rogers, walking back to the group. He stopped staring at the man with the camera. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm the event photographer. Alan Wright." The man held out his hand. "Do you mind?"

"Oh!" said Rogers. "No, of course, not." He glanced around at the team. "We'd be glad to take a few photographs. That's what we're here for."

"I thought we were here for the children," muttered Clint.

"Don't be stupid," admonished Natasha. "We're here for the publicity so shut up and smile."

Clint rolled his eyes but allowed the man to maneuver him into posing with the other Avengers. The next few minutes passed in a hell of flashbulbs. Stand here. Pose like that. Hug this kid. Clint swore that he was never going into modeling of any kind. Then when it was all over, who should come rolling up but Tony Stark.

"What? You guys had picture time and no one invited me?" Stark smiled, flashing a peace sign as Wright snapped a few quick shots. "Captain, I'm hurt. I'll have you know that I'm ridiculously photogenic."

With each word Stark spoke, Rogers grew redder.

"Where were you?" growled Rogers through gritted teeth.

Stark looked taken aback.

"I stepped away for a private meeting," said Stark with a suggestive wink. "No worries."

"No one was worried," said Natasha in a bored voice. "We're all well aware of where your priorities stand. The Captain should count himself lucky you weren't off getting drunk."

Stark looked offended.

"I was making a date, if you must know."

"Wow," said Clint, shaking his head in disbelief. "Trying to score at a party full of sick children. Man, Stark, that's cold."

Stark froze, a hurt expression crossing his face, and Clint knew he had stuck his foot in his mouth again. He winced and opened his mouth to try to mitigate the situation but Stark shook his head. Stark glanced at Clint and then at Natasha and the Captain. His expression hardened.

"You know what," he said. "I don't have to put up with this. I'm out of here."

Stark spun his chair around and rolled angrily away.

"What do you expect," said Natasha to Rogers.

Clint looked away, ignoring the rest of their conversation.

Stark stopped abruptly in front of Bruce and Iron Man.

"If either of you are riding with me, we're leaving," he said, without looking at either of them.

They looked unhappily towards the rest of the group but followed silently behind Stark. Clint glanced at the remainder of the subdued team. Natasha and Rogers were scowling. Even Thor looked downcast, his earlier cheer no longer evident.

Clint sighed.

O

O

O

AN: I hope none of my very suspicious readers were disappointed that Tony has returned without anything nefarious happening.

This arc is still in progress, but it's looking like there will be two more parts: Tony's POV during these events, and the aftermath from the little kerfuffle at the end. Of course, that's what I said last time. I should stop writing things from Barton's POV because they just keep growing and growing.


End file.
